


Strangeways, Here We Come

by aDumpyFrog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aDumpyFrog/pseuds/aDumpyFrog
Summary: Part One (ch. 1-15) is finished.Part Two is currently being drafted.Cecilia (a MI agent with a smart mouth) and Sherlock have an estranged friendship due to circumstances from the past. Unfortunately for the both of them, she is brought back to London at the request of Mycroft Holmes. Jim Moriarty gets involved and things get more complex as the story continues. This part of the story is set in "The Reichenbach Fall" arc of Season 2.This is my first time posting here, please leave comments and kudos!
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. "Shoplifters of the World Unite"

**Author's Note:**

> Oh jesus, I have been working on this story for four damn years due to writer's block and depression. 
> 
> The chapters of this story are song titles from the Smiths' discography.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of the story so I know if it was worth putting out into the world.

**London  
** **2010**

“You’re getting evicted? Was it because of the smell?” Cecilia asked as she read the notice from Sherlock’s landlord. A few weeks ago, Sherlock wanted to observe how long it took for a human foot to fully decompose. A few months prior to that incident, his flat was reeking of cigarette smoke from fifty different types. Sherlock shook his head as he packed a moving box with books. His back was facing her.

“No, because of the fire.” She nodded as a response, remembering how one of Sherlock’s experiments resulted in an explosion. The landlord wasn’t particularly happy with Sherlock’s lack of remorse for the accident. At least no one was injured.

“Where are you going to live now?” Cecilia asked.  
  
“You remember Mrs. Hudson?”

Cecilia frowned, unfamiliar with the name until- “Oh, yes! The lovely woman with the Maserati? Didn’t we put her husband on the death row?”

“Yes. She’s renting out a place on Baker Street.”

Cecilia nodded before taking another glance around the flat. “Hm. I’ll miss this one though.”

Sherlock paused his packing for a moment, letting her last statement reverberate in his head. “Since when do you get sentimental?” he asked in an apathetic tone.

Cecilia rolled her eyes as she dismounted the bison skull off the wall then replied, “I _meant_ it’s nice that it’s close to Bart’s. I save up some coin by walking instead of taking a cab.” She ran her hand across the skull and smiled weakly before packaging it in bubble wrap. “But I suppose there are some good memories here at Montague Street.” She then observed him packing his books and noted that he hasn’t made any eye contact with her since she arrived. "You’re doing that _thing_ where you're trying to ignore me." she looked at him, patiently waiting for him to reply. Sherlock crossed his arms as he leaned against the sitting room wall. 

"If I was _trying_ to ignore you, I wouldn’t have let you in-"  
  
A long, exasperated sigh escaped her mouth. "You've been acting strange for months. Come on now, Holmes. Out with it." He proceeded to stare blankly out the window.  
  
"You're not going to be happy." Sherlock said quietly. _Are you sure you want to do this?_ he thought. Cecilia's expression softened.

"What happened?"

 _This is going to end badly._ "I think it's best that you no longer work with me." he said calmly. Then he added, "We’ve probably just been holding on to each other because we've practically been together since infancy. We've outgrown each other."

"That's not true and you know it."

"You don't need to babysit me anymore, Cee. You should carry on with your life. A person with your skill sets are needed for a larger cause instead of _playing detective_ with me. I don't necessarily need you anymore. It's best if I work alone."

"Is that all?" she said simply. He turned to her and saw her with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth twisted in a smirk. "You finished?"

"You honestly believe I'm joking?"

"Of course. You and I…we’ve been mates for _years_ , if you haven’t forgotten.” he stared at her as she leaned against the table. "Go on then. Continue telling your stories. You always liked doing that as a child."

Sherlock started to laugh maniacally. "I was using you, Cecilia. You were just a mere assistant to me."

"That’s a good joke." she said as she rolled her eyes. "I've seen you use people before. I'm not Hooper or whoever else you have to fool to get them to bend at your every will. I see right through you." she started to walk closer to him. "I know people who live a life of pretending. And I know you are not someone who can pretend with me." Sherlock stared into her eyes, waiting for them to waver.

"Fine." he said suddenly.

" _Fine_?" she threw her hands up in annoyance. "Fine what?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "…It’s happening again. The craving.”

Cecilia’s face softened. She knew what he was referring to. “But you’ve been clean for-“

“Years.” He opened his eyes and stared out the window again. "I noticed it nearly seven months ago. I haven’t been operating at the level I find acceptable. I realized…I need to have it in order to function properly and it’s your fault I can’t."

Cecilia threw the nearest thing to her at Sherlock. Probably a book, although he managed to avoid it. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" she yelled. "To think I felt bad for you at first! You're blaming _me_ for keeping you off drugs?!"

"Er...yes, I believe I implied that somewhere earlier."

"Do. Not. Test. Me. Sherlock Holmes.”." she said through her teeth. "Now explain..."

"I can't get high with you around. No high means no focus, no concentration, means I'm behind on solving cases. I'm losing effectiveness by thirty-eight percent." he stated quickly as he glanced down at his forearm which was covered in three nicotine patches. He turned around and was shocked to see her hang her head in shame. Sherlock had the urge to reach out but dismissed it.  
  
“We could…we could help you again. I can-” she said softly.  
  
"I don't want you around anymore Cecelia!" Sherlock retorted, making Cecilia flinch. A pain developed in his chest, forcing him to look away. "You won't have to watch over me anymore, Clark." Then he closed his eyes to sigh before walking to the door. "I'm sorry." he said quietly as he opened the door for her, gesturing her to leave.

“Sorry?!” she exclaimed. Cecilia drew in a breath and muttered, “You’ve never been sorry once in your life. So, go take your apology…and go fuck yourself.”

* * *

**  
2011  
** **London  
Present Day**

Sherlock shuddered at the unpleasant memory before looking down at his mobile phone. His finger hovered over the keyboard, debating whether he should text back. Before he could make up his mind, the cab he and John were in pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Mr. Holmes' counterpart was in the middle of telling a story when his phone vibrated, alerting Sherlock that he received another text. "-And turns out, the rabbit was in his jumper the whole time!" John exclaimed. Once he realized Sherlock was ignoring him, John asked, “Everything alright?” Sherlock threw his phone to John so he could unlock the front door.

"Of course, it is." His phone began to ring.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he shut the door behind him. "Are you going to answer this?"

“Ignore it.” He replied immediately as he jogged up the staircase. Upon opening the door to the flat, Sherlock’s eyes met with another pair. A beautiful, dark haired woman in a leather jacket and jeans was laying down on his sofa. The woman lazily flipped through the newspaper as she pointed a .45 caliber handgun at him. She was no stranger, though he’d rather have a stranger invading his home instead. Sherlock hasn’t clapped his eyes on her for nearly two years since that day.

“I tried calling.” She said boringly as she continued reading. " _Reichenbach Hero_ ," she read. "You found an old painting. Hooray…Who gives a shit?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly as John approached him from behind. Confused, John sidestepped Sherlock to see what was blocking him from entering the flat.  
  
"Oh, hello." John said awkwardly. The woman, Cecilia, gave him a sweet smile.  
  
"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson."

"Should I put on some tea?" he asked politely. Sherlock's brows furrowed as if he was saying, _'there is a gun pointed at me and you want to offer her tea?'_

"How sweet. I see why you keep him around." Cecilia said to Sherlock with a smile. “But no need.” At that moment, Mrs. Hudson entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Yoo-hoo!” she called, happily setting the tray down on the table. “English Breakfast. Your favorite, dear!”  
  
  
Sherlock looked at the lot in disbelief. _She is aiming a gun at me!_

“Thank you, Martha!” Cecilia exclaimed, before turning to John. “She’s absolutely glowing. Isn’t she, John? Doesn’t look a day over forty.” Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her cheeks to hide her blushing.

“Isn’t she such a doll?!” Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock, who glared at the two in resentment.

“Yeah, Holmes...” The woman said, matching Mrs. Hudson’s enthusiastic tone. “Aren’t I _such_ a doll?” He glared at the woman before glancing at the weapon still aimed at him.

"Could you lay the pistol down, Cecilia?"

"Oh!" Cecilia gasped with a laugh as if she just realized what she was doing. "You know me, Holmes. Force of habit."

Sherlock replied with a raised eyebrow, prompting her to set the weapon down on the end table. With an annoyed sigh, she followed his silent request. Then, he glared at Mrs. Hudson.

“ _You_ , out!” Sherlock commanded as he held the door open for her. Ignoring his attitude, she turned back to Cecilia.

“He hasn’t changed a bit. Don’t you agree?” Cecilia just smiled at her. “Alright now, I’ll let you kids catch up.” She said before closing the door behind her. After they all sat down together with teacups in hand, Sherlock glanced at Cecilia from top to bottom. The collar of her jacket was turned up so she could hide the faint bruises on her neck.

"So, I presume you've had sex recently. Within the past six hours." he said to her casually. John nearly spat out his tea.

"Oh, sod off!” Cecilia exclaimed. “How would you even know what a woman looks like after sex?" John turned to Sherlock raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Sherlock sipped his tea then answered simply, "I can only make an educated guess."  
  
Cecilia leaned towards Sherlock and whispered, "Now tell me: who was the unfortunate woman that bedded you? Did you cry afterwards?"

" _Not. Now..._ " he whispered crossly. The last thing he wanted was for John to pry into his personal life.  
  
John cleared his throat then asked Sherlock, “So…are you going to introduce us or what?”

Sherlock set down his cup with a sigh then said boringly, “This unpleasant woman is Cecilia Clark, she goes by the alias, Charlotte Pearce. She works for my bastard brother.” Then he turned to Cecilia. “Cecilia, this is John, as you already know.” As the two shook hands, Sherlock asked aloud, "So how is it John, that when you saw a strange woman in our flat holding me at gunpoint, you decided to act calm and collected?"

"Well, it was obvious." John replied as he stirred his tea. "Contrary to popular belief, I can deduce and observe _some_ things." He looked over at Sherlock, who was glaring at him.

" _Okay_ …Mycroft told me.”

"Ah, of course." Sherlock muttered before sipping his tea.

“He spared a few details. Well, a lot actually…But he did say you are a 'family friend'. So, you've known him a long time, I suppose?" John asked her. Cecilia smiled as she dropped a sugar cube in her cup.

"Childhood neighbors, went to primary together.” She answered.

"We were hardly _just_ schoolmates." Sherlock interjected before turning to John. "After her parents died, mine took her in like a stray animal. We grew up together." John tilted his head to the side and gave Sherlock a confused look.

"How come you never told me about her?" This time Cecilia turned to Sherlock with her eyebrows raised, waiting for him to answer.

"The subject never came up?" He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. Sherlock then cleared his throat to change topics. “So…how was Paris?”

Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care? You hate Paris.”

“It’s the City of Love,” he replied, repulsed at the nickname. “Of course, I hate it.” Sherlock then gestured towards her bruised neck and added, “And it appears you were there more for pleasure than business.” 

Cecilia let out a scoff before turning to John. Not even ten minutes have passed, and she’s already irritated by her old friend. "I've read your blog Dr. Watson. Good stuff.” John shifted in his chair, a grin plastered on his face.  
  
“Y-You like it?"

"I absolutely love it. Holmes seems much cleverer and appealing in your stories." She said with a smile. “It reminds me of when he assisted me on assignments. Like old times.”  
  
"Like old times?" John repeated. "Hang on, was I just her replacement?"

Sherlock drank from his cup. "Of course not, John. You were the skull's replacement." he said, referring to the old skull on the mantle. Then he turned to Cecilia. "Excuse me, _assist_ you?"  
  
"Obviously. I did most of the legwork." she said simply.  
  
"I did most of the solving." He replied, raising his voice. Cecilia began to match his tone of voice while they glared at each other.  
  
"Which wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for me."

John stared at them, slowly sinking in his chair feeling as if he was in the middle of two alpha beasts fighting for dominance.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and retorted with sarcasm, “Yes and all cases can be solved with a gun and brute force.”

“It’s worked more times than I can count.” She muttered.

“This job requires brain power; something you don’t have, Cee-”

Cecilia immediately cut her eyes at him and grabbed Sherlock by his suit jacket’s lapel. “You haven’t earned the right to call me by that name again.” She said coolly. To John's surprise, Sherlock's glare wavered. Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded apologetically. After Cecilia released him, he proceeded to sit in the kitchen to view a slide in his microscope. Cecilia sighed then returned to her seat and opened the newspaper. The silence made John feel out of place.  
  
 _What was that about?_ John thought. _Feels really…tense all of the sudden_. Sherlock's mobile vibrated, alerting him of a text message. It sounded off once more. John glanced at it before looking back at his friend.

"I'll get it, shall I?" he said tetchily. Cecilia chuckled as she continued reading the paper while John walked to the phone. She glanced back at John whose face was filling with shock.  
  
"John?" she asked concerned. He walked into the kitchen, bringing the phone with him before holding it out to Sherlock.  
  
"Here."  
  
"Not now, I'm busy." Sherlock replied, not turning away from the microscope.  
  
"Sherlock." John said, breathing heavily. "He's back." Sherlock lifted his head and took the phone to read the message.

Tower Hill.  
Come and play.

Jim Moriarty x.

Cecilia watched as his eyes widened at the text. "What is it?" she asked, growing suspicious. Sherlock stood to grab his coat and scarf.  
  
Turning away he said to John, "Get us a cab." To which, John simply nodded before exiting the flat. As the three were about to leave, Sherlock put his hand up to stop the woman behind him. "And where do you think you're going?" Cecilia snorted.  
  
"It's a case that obviously has you cringing. I need to see this for myself."

"Answer this first, why are you here?" He asked with tensely.

“I can’t check up on an old friend?”

His expression became serious as he countered with, "You were always such a terrible liar, Clark." Sherlock turned around and began walking down the stairs. “You’re staying back.”

"Oh, come on Holmes!" she whined after him. "My first day back and this is how you treat me?"

Sherlock spun around in the middle of the staircase and narrowed his eyes at her. "The reason you’re really here is because my petulant big brother asked you to." he spat before starting down the stairs again. Cecilia rolled her eyes.

"Trust me, I'd rather be doing something else. But if I’m going to babysit you, I might as well do something fun!"

"Enjoy boredom, Clark!" he exclaimed teasingly as he slammed the front door behind him. He grinned slyly at himself as he joined John in the taxicab. John stared at him, confused.

"You two have a strange relationship."

"Yes, well...experiencing puberty together can do that to you."

John smiled as he looked out of the window to see Cecilia flipping Sherlock off with her middle finger. “I like her.” Sherlock looked back at John in disbelief as the cab took off.

“What?”

“ _I_...like her,” he repeated. “I think it’s about time someone else knocked you down a few pegs.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes at John before turning back to the window to hide his smirk.


	2. "Stretch Out and Wait"

**Two Weeks Later.**   
**Mycroft Holmes’ Home.**

"Did you bring it?" Cecilia called out as Mycroft entered his foyer.

"Here." Mycroft said uncomfortably as he handed her a shopping bag. "Do you need me to assist you on finding a more permanent place?"

"What, you don't enjoy my company?" she asked sarcastically.

"As much as I enjoy buying your...” he cringed at the next word. “Feminine hygiene products, I think you and I can both agree our differences make us incompatible to share a home together."

"Oh, come on. It's like we're living at your mum's again. Wasn't it fun then?"

"Not for me." he replied flatly. Cecilia rolled her eyes.

"You're still so...boring." She walked over to a sofa and laid down. "Or do you just enjoy being lonely?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not lonely. I'm just alone. Or at least I'd _like_ to be." he said, hinting about their living arrangements. "Besides, you're supposed to be watching over Sherlock. Not me." Cecilia ignored him while she typed a text on her phone. “Which by the way, how is the _darling_ of the Holmes family?” he asked with clear loathing at the phrase. “Baker Street is still in one piece, I hope?”

With a deadpanned expression she replied, “Wonderful. Almost like nothing happened.” Cecilia scraped some dirt from under her fingernails and flicked it onto the floor; much to Mycroft’s utter disgust. “One measly phone call after nearly a year of silence and he thinks all is well.”

Mycroft shrugged. “He is stupid, after all.”

“Anyways, I’m pretty sure he thinks having me around is emasculating." Cecilia paused then sat up quickly. "You think I emasculate you. Is that why you don’t want me to stay with you?" she asked in realization. Mycroft's eyes rolled.

"My masculinity is just fine, thank you."

"Yeah, because you're already just so macho, aren't you?" she said, eyeing his body up and down. Mycroft stood his umbrella in front of him to subtly shield himself from her judging eyes.

"You know, _dear_ Cee…Every time you go away, I always seem to forget how annoying you can be."

“Have you _seen_ what you look like in trackie bottoms when you're doing squats?” Cecilia shook her head shamefully. “It's god awful, mate-"

"Shut up, I get it." Mycroft crossed his arms and grumbled, "You’re an impossible woman. I don't know how my parents did it."

"You're one to talk."

He turned to her and smirked. "Imagine if we were _actual_ friends. Imagine if we actually got along..."

"The Christmas dinners would have a lot less shouting."

Mycroft snorted a laugh, making Cecilia slightly smile. He looked down at his watch before looking back at her. "I should head out. Duty calls."

"Tell _Her Majesty_ , I said hello." she said teasingly.

Mycroft gave her a blank stare then buttoned his jacket. "Look at some flats while I'm gone, please."

"Don't worry. I'll be out of your hair soon. Well, what's remaining of your hair at least." Cecilia gave him a wide grin to which Mycroft did not match whatsoever.

"Hate...isn’t a strong enough word to describe how I feel about you-"

"Sorry, Myc. I just missed you is all."  
  
He stood there with mixed emotions of shock and embarrassment. "Christ, what am I supposed to say to that?"

"I dunno. You can admit you actually enjoy having me here …" After seeing his eyes narrow at her, she added, "Or...You can give me a pay raise?"

Mycroft groaned. "Fine."

Cecilia's eyes widened. "Wow that was fast. Wasn't expecting a raise for another two years-"

"I'm happy you're back, Cee." he said earnestly.  
  
"...Oh." she replied softly. Mycroft stood waiting for a response, as she stared at him in confusion. "Are you expecting a hug or something?" With a scoff, Mycroft turned on his heel muttering on about manners. "What?" she asked, not understanding where she went wrong. “So does this mean I can still live with you?” Cecilia asked as Mycroft walked away.

“Only if you agree to watch over Sherlock again without any complaints."

Cecilia pumped her fist in the air triumphantly and exclaimed, “I won’t let you down, Fatty!”

“GO TO BAKER STREET BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!" Once the front door shut, she sighed and sunk in her seat.

After failing to find anything she'd like to call edible in Mycroft's kitchen, Cecilia stepped outside to head towards 221B. _Myc’s really taking his diet seriously. Not a single cake in sight._ Before she raised her arm to hail a cab, a news stand that featured Sherlock's face caught her eye.

* * *

**One Hour Later**. **221B Baker Street.**

"They are calling this _'The Trial of the Century'_ ". Cecilia said with a smirk as she dropped the paper on Sherlock's lap.

"Since when did you become so interested in the media?" he asked sarcastically. Sherlock picked up the newspaper with only his index finger and thumb as if it was a used handkerchief, then set it on the table beside him.

"Since you became a famous superhero. Ghastly, isn't it?” she said as she peered behind the curtains to gaze out the window. “You and that stupid hat plastered all over London. It's so..." Cecilia frowned before adding, "…Unsettling." She turned around to look at the two Baker Street men. Sherlock was playing Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3 in G major while John sat at the desk typing another blog.

Without pausing his playing, Sherlock replied, "Good thing I don't care about anyone's opinion."

"But you do. You love knowing that people think you are clever. You just don't want to admit it's feeding your ever-growing ego." Sherlock pursed his lips and chose not to retort. Cecilia threw herself on the sofa and sighed. "What are you prepared to say at the trial, Holmes?"

John smirked. "Probably say something smart and get kicked out of the Old Bailey." Cecilia smirked as well.

"Ten pounds say the judge will kick him out within fifteen minutes."

John laughed as he typed. "I'll bet twenty he does in ten." Sherlock rolled his eyes as his two ‘friends’ bonded over their jokes. He stopped his playing then spun around to scowl at them.

"Are you two finished?" He asked, growing irritated. Cecilia's phone suddenly buzzed in her jacket. Sherlock watched as she reached into her pocket and unlock her phone to read the text. She grinned down at the screen. After texting a reply, she quickly pocketed the device. "Who's that?" asked Sherlock, trying not to sound the least bit concerned.

"No one you should be worried about." she answered simply. Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together.

John gave Sherlock a suspicious glance before turning to Cecilia.

"…So no boyfriend then?" John asked her.

Before she could reply, Sherlock began tuning his violin and interjected, "She is a pessimistic introvert with commitment issues." He stopped tuning so he could look up at his friends. "So, no. I highly doubt people would be queuing up at her door to settle down." Cecilia narrowed her eyes at Sherlock, who was grinning cynically at her.

“For your information, it’s someone I met in Paris.” She said as she stomped towards the bathroom. “So piss off!” Cecilia slammed the door shut, making Sherlock snort.

“See what I mean?” he asked John.

* * *

**A Few Weeks Later.** **Old Bailey. Court Ten.**

Cecilia joined John upstairs in the public gallery while Sherlock stood in the witness box below. John's brows furrowed at her blue and green plaid suit. "Nice suit." he whispered.

"Thanks." she whispered back with a smile. She looked down at the court and asked, "What did I miss?"

"Well, he hasn't been kicked out yet."

Cecilia looked down at her watch. "It's only been three minutes. There’s still time." she whispered before turning their attention back to the scene below them.

"- _How_ would you describe this man – his character?" the prosecuting barrister asked.

"First mistake." Sherlock said as he locked his eyes onto Jim. "James Moriarty isn’t a man at all – he’s a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances." Even though Moriarty's back was facing the gallery, they could see him nod his head as if he was agreeing with Sherlock.

The barrister opened her mouth, "And how long-"

Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation. "No, no, don’t-don’t do that. That’s really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes." said the judge angrily.

Cecilia snorted and whispered to John, “Last chance to back out.” John simply rolled his eyes.

Sherlock continued, "How long have I known him? Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up...I felt we had a special something." he added sarcastically.

"Miss Sorrel," the judge said to the persecuting barrister. "Are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert.” Sherlock interjected. “Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury."

Sherlock took this as a challenge. "Oh, really?" His eyes darted to the gallery. John raised his hand to cover his face while Cecilia threw her head back in exasperation. They knew what was to come next. Sherlock turned towards the jury box and deduced the twelve members within seconds. "One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City. The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge exclaimed angrily.

"Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits." He turned to the judge. "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Holy shit, he really _is_ insane..." Cecilia said with a snort, causing a few laughs in the audience.

“Quiet up there!” warned the judge. Moriarty chuckled before turning in the direction of the public gallery. His face dropped upon seeing Cecilia, who was sliding down her seat to hide herself from further embarrassment. She failed to notice his gaze as her and John continued watching Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes.” the judge said sternly. “You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess." Sherlock looked towards both Cecilia and John but couldn't help to notice Jim's smug expression towards Cecilia. "Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt." the judge noticed Jim chuckle to himself and exclaimed, "Is something funny, Mr. Moriarty?"

Moriarty turned back around and gazed at Sherlock as he said, "No sir. Just... _Westwood_..." Sherlock gave him a confused look, only making him grin wider. The judge cocked an eyebrow at his vague response before turning back to Sherlock.

"Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?"

Sherlock paused, giving the question some thought. Then he opened his mouth to draw in a breath.

* * *

Sherlock's lack of tact evidently had him locked up until the trial was adjourned. After he was released at the end of the day, John stood beside him while Sherlock signed for his personal property. "What did I say?” John said crossly. “I said, 'Don’t get clever.'"

"I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap." he muttered before turning around, seemingly searching for someone. "Where's Cecilia?" After he took his bag of items from the custody officer, they began to walk away.

"Getting us a cab. I owe her fifty pounds now."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred." John replied, referring to Jim’s defending barrister.

"Moriarty’s not mounting any defence." John nodded as they walked towards the doors. Sherlock looked as if he had something on his mind and paused at the exit. "Did you see him?" John turned to him, not understanding what he asked. "Moriarty…He was staring at her."  
  
“Cecilia?” John snorted. "You're being paranoid. He was just glaring up at us all." Then he gazed at Sherlock humorously. “Look at you- getting all protective over a woman.”

"Westwood..." Sherlock thought out loud, obviously not paying any mind to John. "Was that some sort of codeword?" The two stepped out of the Old Bailey and saw Cecilia waiting outside with a cab. Sherlock quickly approached her and began searching into her jacket collar. John and Cecilia exclaimed in surprise.

“Sherlock!”

“The fuck?!” Cecilia cried out. And then he spotted it. A Vivienne Westwood label inside the jacket. “I just got this bloody dry-cleaned!”

"Did you know Moriarty? Before the trial?" he asked once he released her.

Cecilia adjusted her outfit and asked. “What the hell does that have to do with my suit?”  
  
“Just answer the damn question.” He replied, impatiently.

"Moriarty? Well, Mycroft gave me a brief synopsis of the bombings, the swimming pool, the Woman-” Cecilia gasped as the three of them entered the cab. “Adler! Was she the woman you lost your-!”

“Getting off topic, don’t you think?” Sherlock interjected. “But you’ve answered the question. You’ve never met him before.”  
  
Cecilia squinted at him in confusion. "Obviously…?”

“I’m pretty sure she would know if she crossed Jim Moriarty.” quipped John.

Sherlock turned his gaze away from them to look out of the window. "Then what was that about?”


	3. "This Charming Man"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Attempted Rape
> 
> Cecilia remembers when she first met Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do I picture playing Cecilia? Shannyn Sossamon. She was amazing as Jocelyn in “A Knight’s Tale”. Did you know she also did vocals and drums in the band Warpaint? She’s perfect.

**The Next Day.** **Old Bailey. Court Ten.**

The judge faced the defending barrister and asked, "Mr. Crayhill, can we have your first witness?"

He rose to his feet and said nonchalantly, "Your Honour, we’re not calling any witnesses." There were gasps of surprise throughout the court. John and Cecilia turned to each other, looking every bit of perplexed.

"I don’t follow." The judge said to the barrister. "You’ve entered a plea of _Not Guilty_."

"Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence rests." The defending barrister sat down while Jim looked at the judge ruefully. Jim then turned to look up towards the public gallery to shrug. His unsubtle gaze finally reached Cecilia, making her eyes lock onto his. Her eyebrow raised, questioning why he was staring. Moriarty looked as if he was pleading to her. With a blank expression, she observed the facial features of her childhood friend's enemy.

Then, it was starting to feel to her as if time began to slow down. She could almost hear the ticking of her watch as the color in her face began to pale. He smiled as he watched Cecilia's once cold face come to full realization. She nervously scuttled to her feet and walked off. "Hey, wait-" John whispered to her before she left the gallery. Cecilia found herself breathing heavily as she ran outside of the court building. She looked up at the sky and panted.

" _Damn it_..." she muttered. _“Not him…”_

* * *

**6 Weeks Ago.  
Paris.  
8:45pm.**

Cecilia anxiously paced back and forth on a sidewalk in her heels and evening dress. An older gentleman in an expensive suit was walking by and he couldn’t help but address the alluring woman. “What’s wrong Love?” he asked the teary-eyed Cecilia.

“My date to the damn party stood me up and now I can’t get in. I got dressed for nothing.” She cried.

“The Meliés party? I’m actually heading there right now.” Then he had an idea. “It would be a waste if you came all this way for nothing. I’ll be your date then.” 

“Really?” she asked, doe eyed.

“Come along now.” The man held out his arm for her to link onto. There were two security checkpoints. The first, was a guard with a metal detector wand. It began to beep close to the man’s coat pocket. The guard raised an eyebrow before fishing out a fountain pen. Cecilia reached out her hand. “I’ll hold onto that for you.” Security complied since she was already scanned. The second guard waited at the entrance. He looked at her escort up and down before tapping on his tablet.

“Welcome, Senator.” The guard said, before allowing the two to enter the building.

Cecilia kissed the senator on the cheek and thanked him before stalking off to what she came here for. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room for the face she came there to see. _Where is he...?_ The thin young bloke was easy to spot with his hip bomber jacket. Once he made his way towards the men’s toilets, Cecilia made her move.

* * *

Jim Moriarty stood in one of the stalls to take a breather away from the crowd. He pushed eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. It was a simple disguise. He didn’t want to be easily recognizable, especially by his investments that stumbled throughout these halls. Jim loved to observe his little crime web in action up close and personal. Might as well tie up some loose ends before he heads back to London.

When Cecilia walked in, Jacoby, her informant, was relieving himself at one of the urinals. 

“Fun party, huh Jacoby?” 

Her voice pulled Moriarty out of his thoughts.

“Ah fuck.” Jacoby muttered. “You’re stalking me now?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have to but you left me no choice when you started ignoring me.” Jim could tell from the sound of her heels that this woman was looking under the stalls for bystanders. Quietly, yet swiftly, he perched himself onto the toilet to hide his presence.

“But really though, while I’m taking a piss?!” Jacoby asked.

  
“Not my first choice, but I saw the opportunity and took it.” Jim was relieved when she walked away from the stalls. He peered through the cracks to watch what interesting event would unfold before him. Jacoby took a step away from the urinal. “I wouldn’t move if I was you, mate.” She warned as he felt a slight prick on his back. “Unless you want to be injected with 12 cc’s of poison.”   
  


Jim held back a laugh when he realized she was just threatening the boy with a fountain pen. _Who is this woman?_

  
“Jesus Christ woman. I’m just trying to wash my hands.” 

  
“You can wash and talk. That shipment two days ago. What was it?”

  
“I don’t know shit about what’s inside.” 

  
“You really think I’m gonna believe that?” She pushed the pen further into him threateningly.

  
“I told you I don’t know!...Look, but I’ll tell you this. I heard Meliés on the phone the other day. And he sounded scared.”

  
“There’s someone above him, eh?”

  
“I dunno. But I heard a name.”

  
“What was it?”

  
Jacoby looked up at her through the mirror. With a dreadful whisper he answered, “Moriarty.” Jim flinched at the sound of his name. Cecilia’s eyebrows pulled together and he noticed this. “You know him?” Jacoby asked.  
  


“I’ve heard the name. You know what he looks like?”  
  


“No one does. But he’s everywhere. He lurks in the shadows.” Jim rolled his eyes. _Like you wouldn’t believe._

  
The door to the toilets opened and a bulky man stood. “Jacoby. Boss wants you-“ Jacoby immediately pushed Cecilia away, making the large man eye them suspiciously. “Oh, needed a quick fuck eh?”

“What does he want?” Jacoby asked.

“Second floor.” The man replied gruffly. “He has some work for you to do.” Jacoby nodded and walked out of the room with Cecilia trailing behind him. Jacoby’s coworker or whoever, shut the door and blocked her from escaping. "Leaving so soon, girl? How much?"

Cecilia narrowed her eyes at the large man. "I'm not a whore." He was stepping towards her, walking them into the corner near Jim’s stall.

"You're in the men's toilets. What else would you be?"

"I just needed to talk to the boy. Nothing else. Now move."

 **SLAP!** Cecilia froze in disbelief once the man's huge hand swept across her face. "Watch your attitude when you're talking to a man, bitch." Cecilia went silent. _Did he really just?_ The guard noted her silence and he took it as compliance. Satisfied with himself, he grinned and began unbuckling his belt. 

Jim knew where this was heading. He had to do something. Jim swung the stall door open, slamming it against the man. “Get away from her.”

The guard rubbed the back of his head, which was still stinging from the stall door he was hit with. He growled in irritation and spun around to face Jim. It was then Jim realized he could not take this man on in a fist fight. The guard towered over him. Jim held a toilet plunger in his hand (the only weapon he found) to strike the man in the face with it. Barely any damage was met. The large man punched him in the face with such force that Jim was beginning to regret involving himself in this situation. This disgusting, sweaty monster was on top of him beating him senseless. That's when he saw her. Dark eyes hovering over them. The woman had the man's belt twisted around her fists. Jim watched as she began choking the guard without fear; only bloodlust. She was beautiful. Once the man collapsed, Jim shrugged the heavy body off to free himself. Cecilia reached out her arm down to him. She was like an angel, pulling him out of the darkness. "Are you alright?" she asked concerned but with a hint of amusement. 

* * *

Nearly an hour has passed. The two were in Jim’s penthouse suite. “I’m almost finished.” She said as she poured more rubbing alcohol onto a washcloth. Jim flinched and seethed as Cecilia cleaned the wounds on his face. “I’m surprised your glasses survived.” She tried her hardest not to stare into this man’s eyes. They were so intense his eyes could burn a hole into her soul. "This hotel is nice. Too nice." she said, trying to distract herself. "What do you do?"

“An investor of sorts. I have different businesses.” Jim tried his best not to lean into her touch. It was magnetic.

"That explains why you were running around there. In the garbage heap of France's criminal underworld."

Jim snorted. "I don't enjoy it." He took the time to observe her features. Her long dark hair, a pretty mouth with a cupid's bow, a single beauty mark under her eye. The only color she wore was on her lips and nails that matched the blood red he admired. _Is that a Westwood armour ring on her left hand? Well done, you._

“Well, does this businessman have a name?” she asked, taking him out of his thoughts.

“Tom. And you?”   
  
“Charlie.” Once she was done bandaging him up, she gave him an ice pack to stop the swelling.

“Well thanks for err- fixing me up.” 

“It’s the least I could do for what you did for me back there.” Cecilia glanced at the clock on his nightstand. _It's late. Mycroft will expect a report in the morning._ "It's time I take my leave."

"When can I see you again?" implored James as he gazed into her eyes. Cecilia was initially taken aback. No one's ever asked her that before. No one's really asked her out before. Her typical encounter is usually direct: have sex and leave. She never particularly enjoyed dealing with the emotional baggage that comes after. She sat there dumbfounded.  
  
"You'd want to see me again?"

He laughed at her bewilderment. "Why not? I find you…fascinating." In all honesty, she found him fascinating as well. “I think a proper, normal date is in order after tonight’s tragedy.” Cecilia let out a laugh.

“I don’t believe normal is in my vocabulary, but I don’t mind pretending.”  
  
Jim gazed at her as she laughed. This unexpected nervousness made the two of them feel so innocent and young. It has been years since they felt so unsure about themselves. _What am I doing?_ He thought _. I should be preparing for my trip back to London._

 _  
_ Cecilia wasn't sure why she bothered entertaining this man. Then again, she was off the clock and something about him intrigued her. Even though she didn't like the idea, she felt somewhat relieved that she finally had human interaction with someone she wasn't supposed to spy on. She mentally noted that she rarely gets hit on. _"You naturally have that piss off attitude; repels boys."_ she remembered Sherlock say once. Cecilia internally scoffed and waved at the memory to go away.  
  


"Fine." she said. Cecilia took James' phone off the nightstand and began dialing her number. "Here." she said, setting it back in his hand. "It's under the name ‘C’."  
  


Jim smirked. “How very James Bond of you.” She rolled her eyes playfully at his joke.  
  


 _You have no idea_ , she thought. Cecilia gave him a smile and left for the door. “See you later, Tom.” He smiled at the new contact in his phone book once she closed the door behind her. There was something dangerous about this man and she couldn't quite place it. He was interesting. The anonymity attracted her and vice versa. For the first time in a while, James Moriarty genuinely felt happy to be alive.

* * *

**The Next Day.**

  
Cecilia sighed in relief as she stepped off the Metro at the Pont Neuf platform. It was starting too crowded in the tube. She rushed up the underground stairs and made her way to the exit. She couldn't help but grin at the view of the Parisian city life. Two more days and back to London. Her 'deployment' was coming to an end. As she gazed at the Seine River, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her favorite leather jacket and recalled back to her phone call with Mycroft earlier that day.

  
_"I'm worried, Cee. Something in my gut is telling me an east wind is coming."_

_"An east wind,” she repeated. “You do know you never scared me with that story, right? I’m not Sherlock.”_

_“I’m just saying. I feel uneasy.”_

_“Does paranoia come with middle age, Myc?”_

_"I'm being serious."_

_"And I'm not?"_

_Mycroft sighed. "You're coming back to London in two days_ _’_ _time.”_ _Cecilia groaned in exasperation._

_"Are you sure? He already has a nanny."_

_"Do as I say for once..." Mycroft pleaded with exhaustion. She could imagine him pulling at his hair. He probably blamed her for his receding hairline. "I know you're still upset with him, but he's gotten better. He won't admit it, but he does miss you. He needs you."_

The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Jim felt under-dressed in slacks and a jumper, but Charlie insisted he wore something casual. Cecilia stood from her spot at one of the lobby’s sofas and made her way towards him. “That’s casual?” she asked with a grin. He now felt self-conscious standing next to her in her black ripped jeans, Converses trainers, and Alexander McQueen leather jacket.   
  


James felt his face heating up in embarrassment. “Says the one who dressed up as Sid Vicious.”  
  
  


Cecilia stifled a laugh at his comment. _I like this guy._ “So…normal date, hm?”

“Normal.”

It was their first-time exploring Paris from a tourist’s point of view. A boat cruise along the Seine River. A visit to Mr. Van Gogh at the Musée d’Orsay. A stroll through the Catacombs of Paris; a favorite for the two. The couple took a break to eat at an outdoor café.   
  
  
Cecilia nursed her glass of gin and tonic while she waited for her meal. Next door, there was a bar that had a band playing a cover of Rage Against the Machine's _Bulls on Parade._ She gasped at the realization and starting humming along. Jim watched as she started to play on her imaginary bass guitar. If someone had placed the real instrument in her hand, she would hit all the notes perfectly. The feeling of someone watching her finally hit her and she opened her eyes to find Jim gazing at her humorously. “Don’t mind me," he joked. “I’m just enjoying the show.”  
  


“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” She rubbed the nape of her neck, embarrassed. "Although…if they covered _How I Could Just Kill a Man_ I would gladly run in there and jump on stage myself." Jim smiled at her for a moment, pondering over her choice of song.  
  


"Were you ever in a band?" he asked. 

  
"Just an amateur one during the sixth form college days. Disbanded after I started uni. Loooong time ago." She said before taking a sip of her drink. “If it took off, I’d probably be doing that instead of…well, you know.” After a moment she added, “What would you be if you weren’t doing…business _things_?”  
  


Using his middle finger, Jim adjusted his eyeglasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “Humour me for a moment and take a guess.”  
  


She tilted her head to the side to think. “What would a clever boy like you’d be doing? Let’s see…a teacher.”  
  


"Teacher?" he asked amused. Moriarty grinned. "You’re a good guesser. I actually used to teach mathematics at a university.”  
  


Cecilia’s jaw dropped in shock. “No kidding? Why did you quit?”  
  


He gave her a shrug. “Got bored. I figured my talents were better off somewhere else."  
  


"Ah, you wanted a career with more risk involved." she said with a grin. Her deduction made him chuckle.

  
“Now why would you say that?”

  
“When intelligent people get bored, they can become dangerous.”

The psychopath within him squealed in delight at her words. _Darling you have no idea._ “Perhaps…that’s how we ended up meeting each other.” Jim grinned then added, “We’re attracted to danger.” His statement made her cheeks flush. That she couldn’t deny. They both craved it. Craved it so much that they made a career out of it.

* * *

The final event of the night, the two decided to watch a movie. A petite and cozy cinema was playing Sabrina. A classic Audrey Hepburn film. He found himself smiling as he watched her laugh at the scenes. It's been a while since he genuinely enjoyed himself without committing a crime in the process. Well, it's never too late for that. He could always kidnap this woman.  
  


_"It's so strange to think of you being touched by a woman." Hepburn's character said to Humphrey Bogart's. "I always thought you walked alone."_

_"No man walks alone from choice."_

_"As a child I used to watch you, from the window over the garage. Coming and going, always wearing your black homburg and carrying a briefcase and umbrella. I thought you could never belong to anyone. Never care for anyone."_

_"Oh, yes, the cold businessman behind his marble desk, way up in his executive suite. No emotions, just ice water in his veins and ticker tape coming from his heart. And yet... one day that same cold businessman, high up in a skyscraper, opens a window, steps out on a ledge... stands there for three hours wondering... if he should jump."_

_"Because of her?"_

_"No. No, that was another woman. Sabrina, do you find it hard to believe that someone might want to blot out everything for sentimental reasons?"_

_"Oh, I believe it! Do you know what I almost did for sentimental reasons? I..." Sabrina stopped herself then said, "I went to Paris to blot it out."_

  
Moriarty turned to look at Cecilia once more and was shocked to see her gazing thoughtfully at the screen. Her eyes seemed to be watering. With a blink, her expression returned to its sarcastic self. She turned to him with a smile before going back to the screen. He couldn't help but to think there was pain behind that smile.

Once they exited the cinema, Cecilia stretched her arms and sighed happily. The two started walking towards a metro entrance as they continued talking about the film. "...Hey," Cecilia said quietly, nudging James with her elbow. "Thanks for tonight. It's been years since I've done something ordinary for once."

  
He half-smiled at her. "Never resist an impulse, Sabrina. Especially if it's terrible." she chuckled at the quote, finding it applicable.

  
"I should get that tattooed on myself." They finally arrived at the stairs to the metro then proceeded to stand there awkwardly fidgeting with themselves. Is this it? It was fun while it lasted right? Jim scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. He knew how to ask women out. He didn't freeze up when he asked Molly Hooper. _Eh, Hooper was a special case_. Jim groaned in his head. Whatever happened to just seducing this woman? He wasn’t expecting to actually enjoy her company. “I guess-“  
  
  
 _Screw it._

And Jim cut her off with a passionate kiss. So passionate, it surprised even him. His hand gripped one of her hips, the other hand on the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. Cecilia couldn’t believe this was happening. Her stomach was fluttering. Her brain was nowhere to be found. Jim broke the kiss and chuckled to himself. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She answered breathlessly, without even taking a moment to think.

“Good.” He replied. Then he lowered his head to bring his lips to her hand. Cecilia watched in awe as Jim walked back to the direction from which they came. She was so stunned she didn’t think she’d be able to move from that spot.

_Fuck_ , they both thought. _I think I’m in love._


	4. "Barbarism Begins at Home"

**Present. London.**

At 221B, Sherlock waited patiently to receive the call from John. He was forced to stay home due to his outburst at court. His eyes snapped open at the sound of his mobile ringing before answering it. John walked briskly outside the Old Bailey as he spoke into the phone, "Is she with you? Cecilia just up and left before the verdict."

"No, she's not." They both paused, waiting for the other to speak. "Well?" Sherlock said impatiently.

"Not Guilty. They found him _Not Guilty_. No defence, and Moriarty’s walked free." Sherlock lowered his phone, distracted at his words. "Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You know he’ll be coming after you. Sher-" Sherlock switched off the phone and made his way into the kitchen to prepare tea. Sherlock replaced the dressing gown he was wearing with a jacket just before setting the tray onto the table beside John’s chair. He went to his own chair and picked up his violin and bow. As he began to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, he could hear the front door downstairs being opened. A few moments after, one of the stairs creaked noisily. Jim paused for a moment and so did Sherlock’s playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumed playing and Jim continued climbing the stairs again. Sherlock stopped playing once Jim pushed the flat door open.

“Most people knock." Sherlock said with his back facing him. "But then you’re not most people, I suppose." he gestured over his shoulder. "Kettle’s just boiled.”

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." Jim said before tossing an apple in the air then catching it. He looked around the room for a seat. "May I?"

"Please." He gestured with the end of his bow towards John’s chair. Jim immediately walked over to Sherlock’s chair to sit in that one instead. Jim proceeded to take out a small penknife and cut into the apple while Sherlock began to pour tea into the cups.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end..."

"...and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it."

"Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody."

"Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come."

“But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased."

“What, with the verdict?" Sherlock offered a cup of tea to Jim. He sat up straighter and took the cup and saucer.

Then Jim answered softly, "With me...back on the streets." He bore his eyes into Sherlock’s, smiling. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain." Sherlock turned away to add milk to his own cup. "You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I. Except you’re boring." Jim shook his head, disappointed before adding softly, "You’re on the side of the angels."

"Got to the jury, of course."

"I got into the Tower of London; you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network."

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen...and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm." Jim lifted his cup to his mouth and whispered, "Easy-peasy." After taking a delicate sip of tea, he grinned. "Speaking of pressure point, I didn’t know you had other friends…"

Keeping a stoic face, Sherlock replied, “You know John, of course.”  
"You know exactly who I’m referring to." Jim interjected once he set his cup down. As Sherlock became speechless, Moriarty allowed himself to laugh. "And the amusing thing is…I know her in more ways than you will _ever_ know." he whispered suggestively. Then he began picking at the leather arm of the chair. "Cecilia Clark...’C’." he said quietly as if he was testing the name.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"Oh, come on. You already know." he replied amused. “I believe I made my mark on her.”

Almost immediately Sherlock thought back to the morning when Cecilia showed up at his flat.

_"You've had sex recently, I presume."_

_"Oh sod off! How would you know what a woman looks like after sex?"_

Sherlock stared in disbelief as Jim continued. "So, tell me about your friend." he clasped his hands together and looked at Sherlock humorously.

"She's not my friend. She's family." he hissed.

Jim rolled his eyes. "How sentimental of you, Sherlock. That's not like you."

"She's dangerous. It’s best you come off the chase now. I don't think it's smart to play with people who work for my brother." 

Jim raised his eyebrows. "MI-6, huh? Well that makes sense. Does your big brother know about...her and I?" Sherlock remained silent, further amusing Jim. "Oh! I can't _wait_ for him to find out. I’ve never seen him lose his cool before..." Then he leaned back into his seat. "Unfortunately, I didn't know she ran in your little circle. And I don't believe she knew who I was either, so don't be too angry at her. Oh, you should've seen her cute little face when she finally recognized me." Jim proceeded to recreate Cecilia's expression of shock at court then laughed. Moriarty turned his attention away from Sherlock, looking forlorn. "We only knew each other for a few days. She made being ‘normal’ fun." Sherlock observed him in confusion as his foe's vulnerability showed. Suddenly, Moriarty's expression changed into hostility as he added, "So you can imagine the look of surprise on my face when I found out this woman is Sherlock Holmes' _other_ best friend!" he gave Sherlock a scornful scowl. "Everything _allllways_ comes back to you, eh Sherlock?" Then he shrugged. "So I guess I'll have to take everything away from you."

"So how’re you going to do it?" He pointedly blew gently on his tea. "...Burn me?"

"Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? What’s the final problem?" Jim asked as Sherlock silently watched him. "I did tell you..." Then he added, singsong, "...But did you listen?" He took another sip of tea and then put the cup down into the saucer. After putting his hand onto his knee, he started to idly drum his fingers. Sherlock’s eyes lowered to watch the movement. "How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don’t know'?"

Sherlock set his cup into its saucer and shrugged. "I dunno."

"Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; _awfully_ clever." Sherlock smiled humourlessly at him. "Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?"

"Told them what?" Sherlock asked as he placed his hands into his typical steeple pose.

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."

"No."

"But you understand."

"Obviously."

"Off you go, then." Jim said as he ate a carved piece off his apple.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No; I want you to _prove_ that you know it."

"You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to."

"Good."

"You’ll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good." Jim said encouragingly. "Because...?"

“Because nothing...nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown." He smiled delightfully at Sherlock.

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do."

"And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me." He lifted another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife. "Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex." Then he added with a smirk, "Ask Cee, she would know."

"Don't call her that." Sherlock interjected harshly. Jim's eyebrows furrowed at Sherlock's moment of protectiveness. Sherlock noticed this as well and cleared his throat. "If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves me the best!' Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one. You think Cecilia would be up for it?" Jim asked seriously. "She'd be lots of fun. We could go off on little crime sprees together." Then he looked at Sherlock with a serious look. "What have you done to her?"

Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry?"

"She didn't just happen to go to Paris because your big brother asked her to. She requested, didn't she?” he replied softly. "So tell me, Sherlock, why did you make my new friend so unhappy?"

"I don't believe what goes on between Cecilia and I is any of your business." Jim leaned in and grinned.

"Wanna bet?"

"Stay _away_ from her."

"Tell me then."

Sherlock stared at Jim for a moment. "Why are you doing all of this? You don’t want money or power – not really." Jim sighed, disappointed that they're going back to the subject they were on before. "What is it all for?"

"I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem." Jim lowered his head to continue cutting his apple. "It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall. But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying, except there’s a more permanent destination." He glowered across at Sherlock, who stood up to button his jacket.

"Never liked riddles."

Jim stood as well and straightened his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock’s eyes. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I...owe...you." The two men stared at each other before Jim finally turned away to walk out of the flat.


	5. "Handsome Devil"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Cecilia's last night together in Paris and they talk about their past.

**Paris. Six Weeks Ago. 7:00pm.**

In her bedroom, Cecilia walked out of her walk-in closet and faced the web camera on her Macbook. "What about this one?" she asked as she twirled around in her plaid Vivienne Westwood suit. She heard Mycroft slap his forehead with his hand.

"Are you going to court? You look ridiculous!"

"This is the only suit I have!"

"No _female_ should wear a damn suit to a date!" he exclaimed sternly.

"So...” Cecilia stared at Mycroft's virtual face, utterly confused. “That's a no then?"

"IT'S A BLOODY NO." she threw her head back in exasperation before stripping her clothing off. "What the _hell_!" he shouted. Mycroft nervously looked behind him, making sure the door to his Diogenes club office was closed. Then he looked back at the screen. "You can't just undress in front of me!" he whispered crossly. "Stop treating me like I'm your damn _sister_ or something!" Cecilia rolled her eyes.

"Don't be such a prude." she said as she finally got down to her black lace briefs and bra. "It's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

"That time was an accident! I was-" he interjected, embarrassed.

"By the way," she said, cutting him off to point to the lingerie she was wearing. "Does this look good? I haven't had sex in a while, so I want to make sure I look somewhat desirable." Mycroft rubbed his temples with his eyes closed.

"It's _fiiiine_...Why am I even having this talk with you?" he asked painfully. As Cecilia went back into her closet, Mycroft asked, "Who is this man anyway? It’s unlike you to put in the extra effort.” Cecilia rolled her eyes at his comment while she slipped on a suspender belt and attached it to her sheer hold ups.

“Since we’re speaking of my sex life-”

“Since _you’re_ speaking of your sex life.” Mycroft interjected. “I never brought it up. Nor will I ever.”

“How is _yours_ doing then?” she asked with a sly grin. “Has Lady Smallwood laid her liver spotted hands on you yet? What is she- seventy years old?” Cecilia could feel his glare burning into her skull from the computer screen. The thought of it made her grin wider. After all, teasing Mycroft is her favorite pastime.

To show he was unaffected by her remark, Mycroft asked, “Shall I conduct a background check on your date?"

"I thought about it, but no need. Ignorance is bliss after all. I'll be sure to update you every four hours. So, no need to pry behind the lens of a CCTV."

"Good. I wouldn’t hear the end of mother’s wrath if anything happened to you." Cecilia finally walked into the bedroom in a beige, short-sleeved pencil dress.

"This one?" she asked, uncomfortably. Cecilia was beginning to regret putting on a dress. Mycroft smiled.

"Perfect." after Cecilia gave him an embarrassed smile, Mycroft went back to his usual pouty self. "Pair it with the Louboutin’s and go. I'm beginning to lose respect for myself." 

"Thanks, Myc." she said as she strapped on her pumps. "I'll see you tomorrow." Cecilia closed the screen then stared at herself in the mirror. She pulled her long, now curled, hair over her shoulder and exhaled nervously.

* * *

Jim Moriarty sat at an empty table with white tablecloth in the corner of the room. He felt arrogantly confident in his dark blue Alexander McQueen suit. His black unruly hair from last night was now slicked back in typical Moriarty form, but he kept the eyeglasses. Jim was beginning to grow attached to them. He couldn't help but grin to himself any time someone in the restaurant glanced at him. Yes, he noted he was the most handsome one there. With one finger, he slid his eyeglasses back up the bridge of his nose after ordering the wine. As he glanced down at his watch, he could hear a few diners muttering in awe. Moriarty glanced back up to see a dazzling Cecilia approaching his table. He shocked himself at the fact that for a moment he forgot how to breathe. The maître d was about to pull a seat out for her, but Jim stood up immediately and insisted he do so himself. "You look brilliant." he whispered as he pushed in her chair.

"I hope so. I changed my bloody outfit twenty times." she joked. He couldn't help but smile at her as he sat across from her. Cecilia glanced at the twinkling lights on the ceiling and smirked. "This place is very... _romantic_." she cringed at the word playfully. "You're not having the sommelier hide an engagement ring in the wine glass, are you?"

Without thinking he replied, "Don’t tempt me or I just might." Cecilia's eyebrows pulled together obviously taken aback at his response. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled. "That was a joke. Obviously." he said quickly as Cecilia bit down on her lip to keep herself from laughing. Jim was thankful for the waiter cutting in to take their order. He was beginning to completely shut down. Imagine if his clients saw him like this. James Moriarty; flustered?

Once the waiter left, Cecilia smiled and said, "Relax. Just be yourself." he fought back the urge to roll his eyes at her last comment.

Jim sighed. _I could just shoot myself right about now_. "I’m not used to this sort of thing."

She nodded empathetically. "I understand that, too well." she sipped on her wine flute then grinned at his attire. "You clean up very well, Tom." Jim smiled at his fake name.

"Thank you.”

"So...” she said with a sigh. “What do normal people do on dinner dates?" Jim smiled as he brought his wine glass to his lips.

"I don't know. Have dinner. Talk."

She scoffed at the last bit. "About ourselves?" she asked sarcastically. "You actually want to know about me?" he gave her a disappointed frown.

"Of course, I do." Cecilia gazed at him intently, trying to figure out whether she should trust him.

"Alright then." she said, crossing her arms with a challenging look on her face. "What do you want to know?"

Moriarty drummed his fingertips along his lips deep in thought. "What happened last night? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your reaction at the movie."

Cecilia could almost read his thoughts, making her roll her eyes. "About two years ago I got in a fight with a friend. We made up, but I'm about to see him again and I'm stressed out about it." she looked away and pretended to be interested in the customers that surrounded them. 

"What was the fight about?" he asked, not wanting to get away from the previous subject.

She began chewing on her lip. "I don't know," she said with a sigh. "Can we change the subject?"

"Maybe I can help-"

"I don't need help." she retorted. They noticed a few awkward glances around the room. "Sorry. I can't stand when people prod. I don’t like talking about personal matters." It became quiet for a moment.

Jim drew in a breath and said, "My brother is a station master. Which I find ludicrous since he could be anything else if he wanted to. I used to look up to him when we were younger. Sometimes I think I'm jealous."

"You two are close?"

"No, I actually fucking despise him." he muttered angrily. Cecilia raised an eyebrow and looked at him with amusement.

"Did you...tell me that to make me feel better?"

"It was my way of apologizing. You shared something personal; so I did too...even at the expense of bringing up not-so-fond memories." Then he added sarcastically, "So yeah, thanks for that." Cecilia chuckled to his surprise.

"I'm sorry to say it worked." she said with a laugh. Cecilia smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. "Fine...I'll tell you something, but don't laugh."

He grinned. "I won't make any promises." She covered her forehead with her hand, embarrassed.

"I used to dance when I was a child. Ballet." She said with a groan. Jim found himself amused at this new information.

"Were you any good?" he asked as he looked away, distracted by the song that just began playing.

Cecilia snorted. "Fuck no. I did it for my mum." Jim suddenly stood and offered his hand to her. Cecilia looked at him confused.

"Er- what are you doing?"

Cecilia glanced around her, embarrassed. "Right here? L-like right now?"

"I want to see if you're as bad as you say you are." his gaze never wavered as if his eyes were challenging her. After realizing that he wouldn't give up, Cecilia hesitantly stood. Jim then placed her arms around his neck and his around her waist. From her peripheral vision she could see the restaurant occupants watch them. A few couples followed suit.

"You like being the center of attention, don't you?" she said teasingly. Jim grinned at her.

“I have a gorgeous woman on my arm. It’s only natural I’d want to show off.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes playfully. "Classic narcissist."

"La Folie Ordinaire..." he said, gesturing to the song. “Know what it means?”  
  
Cecilia let out a quiet snort. “ _Ordinary Madness_. Fitting.” Suddenly, he felt her accidentally step on his foot.

"Oops, sorry." she replied wryly. "I told you I wasn't any good." Jim just chuckled.

"You're absolutely terrible." he joked. "Why did she want you to take up dancing in the first place?"

"She was a professional. Her shows were always sold out. She was absolutely immaculate from what I remember.” Cecilia smiled the more she spoke of her mother. "People would tell me all the time how she was the definition of poise, elegance, and beauty. How she was kind, respected, and loved..." then she added with a smirk, "They would be so disappointed to see how her daughter turned out."

"...I'm not." he replied earnestly.

She smiled forlornly at him. "You're the first to say so." Cecilia said softly. "And you'll probably change your mind." Jim gave her a reassuring smile and whispered,

"We'll see about that."

After their dinner, James retrieved his coat and her leather jacket from the coat check. As he assisted her in putting it on, Cecilia noticed his hands linger around her shoulders. She turned around and they gazed at each other knowingly. "Sorry," he said. "I-"

"To make this less weird," she said cutting him off. "I'm not used to the whole courting scenario. It gives me anxiety. Let's just skip to us going upstairs to your room, have sex, then me slipping out in morning before you wake up. Alright?" he just stared blankly at her.

"Wow." he said in disbelief. _Getting straight to the point eh?_

"Sorry. It's just…I'm on a schedule." she said with a laugh. "I know it's sudden, but I have a flight to catch in the morning." Moriarty could feel a pang of disappointment in his gut. He leaned in close to her and softly kissed her lips.

"Then let's not waste any more time, Darling." he whispered.

* * *

It was a few minutes after midnight as city lights cascaded the dim luxurious suite of the Hotel Ritz. The room was nearly as ornate and profound as Versailles itself. "Doesn't surprise me that you're a Sex Pistols fan." he snorted. The two laid naked in his sheets basking in the afterglow of sex as he scrolled through her iPhone. “You have the whole…Sid Vicious thing going on.” Cecilia rolled her eyes before reaching for her glass of wine on the nightstand.

“Except I can actually play bass. Gaye Advert is more of my inspiration.”

He laughed as he continued scrolling through her music. "You have every Smiths album on here." he looked at her with a grin. "Hopeless romantic?" she nearly choked on her wine before snatching her phone away.

" _Me_? No. Definitely not romantic nor hopeless. I've never even been in a relationship.” She proceeded to wipe the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Morrissey's lyrics are just funny to me. Granted, he does sing about bludgeoning someone in their bed." she paused to chuckle. "They’re morbid and slightly depressing, but I can appreciate someone who can admit they're a bit insane.” Cecilia shrugged lightly. “Aren’t we all?" Moriarty gazed at her. God, he could marry this woman. Then she held out her hand. "Let's see yours, then." he groaned in response.

"Seriously?"

"Don't be shy now." he reluctantly gave her his phone. As she scrolled through his playlists, he went to pour themselves more wine. "Bee Gees...Bowie...Ah, some Hendrix. You have all the necessities." she muttered. "Red Hot Chili Peppers?! I might just marry you. Flea is the reason why I started playing bass in the first place.”

"He is easily one of the greats."

"Easily."

Once she had completed skimming through his musical tastes, Cecilia handed Jim’s phone back to him. She let herself relax into the bed to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Charlie..." she said softly before rolling over to face him. "Charlie isn’t my real name. It was my mother's name. Charlotte."

"Was?"

"Dead. I thought it was obvious.” She rolled onto her back again to gaze at the crystal chandelier above them. “What about yours?"

James sighed. "Never met my birth parents. I was adopted by an older couple who died while I was at uni."

Cecilia frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. They had Alzheimer's. Terrible way to go; losing all control of your mind." He lightly tapped Cecilia’s temple. “I’d rather die young brilliant, than die old losing the most precious thing I have.” Cecilia nodded. _Sounds like something Sherlock would say._ Then he turned to her. "Your father is still around then?" she shook her head. "Ah, and their deaths triggered your sociopathic tendencies?" he asked playfully. Moriarty noticed the tattoo of an anatomical drawing of a skull on her right arm and began tracing it with his finger.

Cecilia shrugged. “I dunno. Possibly.” The two became quiet. They allowed themselves to hear the light traffic outside the hotel; reminding them that the two of them weren’t the only ones in this world. “Sometimes I wish I had a sibling.” She said suddenly. Then she turned her head to look at Jim. “You should call your brother once in a while. Even just to say ‘hello’. I can tell you miss him…just a little.” Jim scoffed then rolled his eyes.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You never know. He might be missing you too.”

Jim felt his eyes softened as he stared at the chandelier. It became silent again as he thought about his sibling. Opening up about each other’s pasts might have been a mistake. To avoid having his thoughts trail off, he asked, "So are we going to talk about what we really do or who we really are?"

With a sigh, she replied, "Would you believe I’m one of the X-men?"

"Not in the slightest.”

She shrugged with a smile. "Maybe it’s best we keep it to ourselves then.”

Jim propped himself up with his arm and looked down at her. "You're not scared of me?" he asked slyly.

“Why? _Should_ I be?” His only answer was a humorless smile. Cecilia let out an irritated sigh. “I’ve met plenty of terrible people in my lifetime and I don’t think you’re one of them.”

“What if I had killed people?” he asked, boring his emotionless eyes in her. To his surprise, his frightening gaze didn’t seem to affect her.

“What if _I_ had?” she asked as she narrowed her eyes at him. Jim’s brows pulled together. He was beginning to wonder if she killed the guard at the party or just knocked him out.

“…Have you?”

“Does it really matter to you?” Jim shook his head with a smile. She observed his eyes for a moment before moving the sheets off her. Cecilia took his hand and place it on her abdomen. Upon feeling a small, circular scar, Jim looked at her in horror. She laughed at his expression. “I won’t go into detail, but that was my first gunshot wound.” He kissed her forehead and began running his hand through her hair. Cecilia chuckled at his sudden romantic behavior. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I'm just surprised, is all. It's not as if I have a line of people willing to place their trust in me. There are times I actually do feel like a monster."

"If you really were a monster, you would’ve let that man take me in the toilets. But there you were, risking your life for a stranger. I think that says more about your character than anything else.” She placed her hand on the side of his face and smiled sadly. “We all have some sort of terrible demon inside of us. Doesn't mean we can completely cut ourselves off from human emotion." Moriarty sighed then lifted her hand off his face to kiss it.

"Where am I going to find another pet like you?"

"I dunno." she said with a sigh. "Women like me are most likely found in prison." As he chuckled, Cecilia's phone began buzzing on the nightstand. She unlocked her mobile and read ten unread texts from M.

" _ARE YOU ALIVE_ " read the first message.

Cecilia sighed. "I have to make a call." she said to Jim.

"That's fine." he said with a yawn. "I have to check my emails anyway." Cecilia smiled before kissing his cheek and climbing out of the bed. She grabbed his dress shirt that was on the floor and slipped it on. After Moriarty opened his laptop in bed, a small smile formed on his lips as she walked outside to the private terrace. He admired the view of this woman wearing nothing but his clothes.

Cecilia groaned in exasperation once she shut the French doors behind her. She held her phone to her ear and grumbled into the microphone, "What is it Myc?"

"YOU SAID FOUR HOURS!" he shouted as Cecilia cringed at the sudden outburst.

"Ow, my ear-"

"I WAS ABOUT TO SEND THE WHOLE DEPARTMENT AFTER YOU!"

"Sorry..." she muttered as she glanced over the edge of the terrace. "Can you stop yelling? You sound hysterical." Cecilia began walking around, letting her free hand lightly touch the roses that were planted on the terrace.

"CAN YOU IMAGINE WHY?!" Cecilia ran her fingers through her hair and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm fine. Can I go now, _Dad_?"

Mycroft inhaled and exhaled slowly to lower his blood pressure. "How did everything go?" he asked calmly.

"It was great." she answered briskly.

Mycroft paused. “…That’s it?” Cecilia rolled her eyes.

“What? You want to know how many times I ca-“

“Forget I even asked!” he interjected tensely. Mycroft cleared his throat then added, "GPS says you're at Hotel Ritz. Impressive. Please tell me you’re not sleeping with a politician; a French one at that.”

 _Of course, he knows where I am_. “Please,” she said with a scoff. “I wouldn’t want to lose the remaining dignity I have for myself.”

“I'm guessing you're with him still?"

"Obviously."

" _Hate_ to rush you during your final throes of romance," Mycroft began sarcastically. "But remember...your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon and you still haven't packed. You should probably head back to your flat soon."

"Roger that." she sardonically replied before hanging up. Cecilia walked back into the room and proceeded to crawl back into bed. Jim closed his laptop and set it on the nightstand before curling up next to her.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Someone annoying and none of my concern at the moment." she said as she laid her head on his chest. "I just want to enjoy my last few hours with this mysterious, posh Irishman." Jim wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

"When's your flight?"

Cecilia smiled against his chest. "You sound disappointed." She said teasingly.

"I do?" he asked, trying his best not to act surprised. Then he snorted. "Don't get cocky now. I won't be the one missing you. It's you who will be missing me." Jim removed his arm around her and proceeded to wriggle his way under the sheets. Cecilia rolled her eyes with a smirk as she felt him leave a trail of kisses down her stomach to her thighs. For a moment, she felt saddened at the thought of never seeing this man again. She particularly enjoyed his company. Cecilia played with the thought of pursuing a relationship with him. She choked back a laugh at the thought. Cecilia Clark: Girlfriend? No way in hell. She pictured her and the Holmes’ chuffed to bits at the thought of her dating. She chuckled in her mind and smirked. Besides, who knows what kind of past this man has? It would be reckless of her to ever meet him again. 


	6. "Sweet and Tender Hooligan"

** London. Present. **

Cecilia sighed as she stepped out of her steamy bathroom and into her bedroom. She'd taken a long shower to clear her thoughts of Tom/Jim Moriarty. Could this really be happening to her? After she towel dried her hair, she tied the sash on her long black silk dressing gown loosely on her hip. On the bed, her iPhone vibrated alerting her of a text. 6 unread messages. The first five were from John.

_Where are you?_

_Are you still here?_

_They're about to come to a verdict._

_He's free._

_I repeat. Moriarty is free._

Then she read the most recent.

_I’m coming over._

_**-SH** _

Once she read the brief text, she lightly threw the phone back on her bed. Her bare feet padded their way to Mycroft’s decanter in the drawing room. She was mentally preparing herself to be scolded by Sherlock. On top of the counter, she saw a gin and tonic already made in a ball glass. She couldn't help but smirk at it. "You have a knack for unlocking doors." she said before turning around to see Jim Moriarty sitting on the sofa.

"Did you miss me?" he asked as he grazed his fingertips across his mouth. "I'm disappointed you've already forgotten what I looked like."

"You look different without the eyeglasses. And it’s not like I was expecting the man I screwed in Paris to be the infamous Jim Moriarty." she said boringly. "How were you even able to text me while you were in prison?"

Moriarty smiled. "You saw what I was able to do six weeks ago. You think I can’t find a way to contact you from behind bars?"

She crossed her arms and leaned against the drawing room table. “What’s the point in all this? What’s your motif?”

“Sherlock and I have unfinished business.”

“Your business is with him, not with me. So why are you here?” she questioned. “Did you come here to threaten to kill him and expect me to tremble? That's the thing about having intelligent people as your friends; they can handle themselves."

"One can only be pushed so much. Eventually they'll fall." With a grin he added, “Just as you have. A devil disguised as an angel.”

Cecilia slowly walked towards him, carefully watching his eyes. “What are you going on about?”

“I know about your past. The dirty things you’ve done. You say you’re on the side of the angels, and it may seem that way…for now.”

"And you? What's your weakness?" Moriarty rolled his eyes.

"Weakness? _I_ don't have one. Weaknesses are for…well, the weak."

"Wrong." Cecilia snapped, causing him to cut eyes at her. "The reason why you're so obsessed with Holmes is because he’s what you _could_ be. What your life might’ve been if you were on the side of good and right. Although he’s considered your equal, he’s much stronger than you due to his want for connection…" she smiled. "And you’re too much of a coward to admit you're jealous of him." In a fit of rage, Jim grabbed her by the arm and pushed her onto the sofa. With one hand holding her wrist down above her head, he immediately climbed on top of her to keep her trapped. Cecilia's unamused eyes glared into his as her free hand shoved the barrel of her pistol into his ribs. Moriarty chuckled at this. _She's fast._ Without taking his eyes off of hers, his free hand slid down her left hip.

“Why are you so cold to me now?” Jim asked her. “I thought we had something in Paris.”

“That was before I knew who you were. It’s different now.” 

“We can simply pick up where we left off.” 

Cecilia scoffed. “You don’t truly mean that.” He didn’t reply, but Cecilia could see that he was thinking over it in his head. “We belong to two different worlds.”

“I could always bring you to mine.” Moriarty's hand slowly crawled under her silk robe to graze her inner thigh. Her body betrayed her; the feel of his touch made her breath hitch. Cecilia became disgusted with herself and gave him a quick shove. Jim chuckled at her reaction but conceded to her wishes. With an agonizing sigh, he climbed off her and stood to adjust his grey Reiss suit. Jim didn’t want to admit it, but he was already missing the warmth of her body. 

"Have dinner with me." he said casually as he straightened his tie with his back facing her.

"Excuse me?" she asked tersely. Moriarty turned around to see Cecilia laying on her side. One arm propped up to hold her head and the other lazily pointing the weapon at him. He held back the urge to bite his lip.

"I could threaten you, but that would be too obvious." he said with a smirk. She groaned in annoyance as she sat up straight. “All I want is to finish our little chat.” After glancing down at his watch, he added, “If my guess is correct and it is, Sherlock will be on his way over. And three’s a crowd, don’t you think?” Jim gave her a small smile then opened the door. "Eight o'clock, my dear. Clear your schedule or I'll clear it for you." he said sing song like right before he shut the door behind him.

His driver waited outside and opened the passenger door for him. Once Jim climbed inside, he pulled out his mobile and scrolled through his music app. An eyebrow raised upon discovering a playlist labeled: - _C.  
  
_

1\. _La Folie Ordinaire_ \- Françoise Hardy  
2\. _Bored Teenagers_ \- the Adverts  
3\. _Disorder_ \- Joy Division  
4\. _Torture Me_ \- Red Hot Chili Peppers  
5\. _Stockholm Syndrome_ \- MUSE  
6\. _You Shook Me_ \- Led Zeppelin  
7\. _Gimme Danger_ \- Iggy & the Stooges  
8\. _Sinister Kid_ \- the Black Keys  
9\. _Diary of a Young Man_ \- Television Personalities  
10\. _Love Is Blindness_ \- Jack White  
11\. _Charlotte Sometimes_ \- the Cure  
12\. _Us and Them_ \- Pink Floyd

* * *

Not even ten minutes went by before there was a knock on her bedroom door. With a groan, Cecilia stood up then walked towards the door. Before she could open it, the door swung open with Sherlock and John trudging through. "For God's sakes," she cried out. "I'm tired of people just waltzing into my room." Sherlock glared at her as he shut the door behind him.

"Moriarty was here, wasn't he?" he asked quickly as he unwrapped his navy scarf from his neck. Then his eyes darted to the robe Cecilia was wearing. Her robe and hair were disheveled, leaving one of her shoulders bare. "Don't tell me you two-"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" she asked irritated. Cecilia adjusted her robe and grumbled, "Nothing happened…this time.” she frowned, pitying herself.

"Oh yeah, about that..." Sherlock inhaled then shouted, "What the hell was that about?!" Cecilia rolled her eyes then sat down in front of her dressing table with Sherlock following her. "You didn't even bother for a moment to tell me you knew James Moriarty? Or even slept together?!"

"Jesus, I just found out today he was Moriarty."

Sherlock scoffed. "And to think you were more observant than the rest."

"Fuck off. You thought the bloke was gay when you first met him!" Sherlock spun around to look at her. "Yeah..." she said pointedly as she gestured towards John. “He told me."

John turned to Sherlock and gave him an exhausted look. “Why am I here again?”

"Never mind that." he replied as he paced her hotel sitting room. "Just keep yourself away from Moriarty. I'll deal with him soon enough."

"He asked me to dinner." she said flatly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Well not really asked. _'clear your schedule or I'll clear it for you'_ ..." she said scornfully with the best Dublin accent she could muster. “I underestimated that man. He probably did his research, somehow discovered me, and that's why he targeted me in Paris."

"No," Sherlock said quietly. "He didn't. He told me so himself." Cecilia snorted.

"And you believe him?"

"Moriarty wouldn't lie to me. We have a…special relationship."

"How adorable." she replied sardonically. Cecilia observed him as Sherlock stared off into space, occupying his thoughts. "What is it?"

"Huh?" he said, bringing his attention back to her. "Oh. Nothing." Cecilia raised her brow, unconvinced. “I find he is being rather...unusual."

"No shit, Sherlock." she said irritated. "James Moriarty, psychotic mastermind, is being unusual? Fine deduction, that was." her sentence just oozed with sarcasm.

John nodded and muttered, “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

"Clark, I'm being serious." Sherlock began pacing again. "He seems much more distracted than before..." he stopped in his tracks then turned on his heel to look at his childhood friend. Cecilia paid no mind to Sherlock as she started to disassemble her Glock. "He dated Molly to get to me. To mess with me. That was before we even knew he was Moriarty." he paused to gather his thoughts as Cecilia began cleaning her gun. "He wrapped John in Semtex and threatened to blow us up...just to play with me." Then added perplexed, "Which leaves the question: what’s his reason to keep toying with you?"

"What? You think he's pining for me?" she joked as she used a toothbrush to clean the barrel. After noticing Sherlock's silence, Cecilia looked up at him pitifully. "Really? I repel men, remember? Your words, not mine." she chuckled then continued her cleaning. "Men like you and Moriarty couldn’t bother to acknowledge anyone that isn't on the same intellectual spectrum." Sherlock detected a hint of sadness in her assertion. It was silent again. "So..." she cleared her throat, wanting to change the subject. "Any new cases? I'm bored. I want to shoot something."

"Well, you have dinner with him tonight. Maybe you'll get lucky." he muttered. Cecilia's face scrunched in confusion.

"What? Why would you think I would ‘hang out’ with your arch-nemesis like we’re a couple of mates?" she looked up at the ceiling in thought. "Arch-nemesis...How did you get an arch-nemesis?" John snorted as if he was wondering the same thing.

"I want to know what's going on in that man's mind." he replied irritated. "He's planning something. A fall..."

"And you think he'll just tell me about it over dinner?" she said with a laugh.

Sherlock looped his scarf around his neck then told her without hiding his annoyance, "Just do it, please. I want to know what he's playing at."

Cecilia narrowed her eyes at him. “Meaning; you want me to be your pawn.”

Sherlock insincerely frowned. “Oh Cecilia, are you really a pawn if you’re knowingly one?” He turned towards the door and called John to follow him.

As he walked to the front door she called out, "You're obsessed!"

"I just love a good game, Clark!" he exclaimed over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. Cecilia sunk into the sofa and groaned in exasperation.

John walked briskly behind Sherlock, who was mumbling to himself. “Why exactly did you want me to come here with you?” John asked.

“What?”

“You didn’t exactly need me to tag along.” Sherlock glanced at John before stepping outside. John suddenly gasped with newfound realization. “I just realized- You don’t like being alone with her, don’t you?” he asked, with a mischievous grin. Sherlock raised his arm to call a cab.

“I can be alone with her just fine.” Sherlock muttered. “Don’t try to look smart, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

* * *

**8:00pm. Four Seasons Hotel.**

Moriarty opened his hotel suite door to an unpleasant Cecilia. "Let's make this quick." she muttered as she walked into his sitting room. "Graham Norton is coming on in a few hours. Don't wanna miss that." she added with a fake smile. The last dinner they had; Cecilia wore a dress. This time, she wore her usual leather jacket, a white v neck top, distressed jeans, and knee-high boots. No reason to impress him now. She sat at the dining table with an arm lazily hanging over the backrest of the chair. Her left ankle rested comfortably over her right knee. Cecilia then glared at Moriarty like a cheeky schoolboy who's been sent to the headmaster's office. He watched as she drummed her left hand on the armrest. Her Westwood armour ring clicked against the wood as she drummed.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"I’ll skip the four-course meal and go straight to dessert." she said with a sigh. Moriarty simply nodded before calling room service. He didn't take his eyes off of her as he ordered. After hanging up the phone, he smiled at her and said, “Found that little playlist you made for me.” Cecilia rolled her eyes.

“Delete it. I only make playlists for people I like. Tom- I liked. You? Not so much.”

Jim grimaced at her. “You thought I wasn’t being myself?”

“Obviously.” She replied humourlessly. “I adore baddies; but not baddies of _your_ caliber.”

“My _caliber_?” he repeated, charmed. “Keep flattering me, Miss Clark and I will not hesitate to have my way with you.” Jim gazed at her, hungrily, as she stared back with the emotion of a paperclip.

“It wasn’t a compliment, you knob.” Cecilia took her arm off the backrest and propped her elbow on the table. "What am I doing here, Moriarty?" she asked boringly. He realized this was the first time she called him by his actual name.

"Call me Jim. I think we're past surnames."

"Absolutely not." she replied immediately.

“Aw, come on now. Your attitude is hurting my feelings.” He said ruefully. “I thought we were friends.” Cecilia let out a laugh.

“Like you would ever think of me as a friend.” She replied with a bored tone. “I’m sure you only thought of me as some sort of prey.” Jim shrugged. Well, she was somewhat correct.

The door knocked. Room service just arrived.

"...Let them eat cake." muttered Moriarty before walking to the door. Cecilia began drumming her fingers on the table as he received a tray of pastries from the door. Jim set the tray down on the table and took the silver lid off, revealing the sweets. "Here you go." he said with a small smile.

Cecilia glared up at him. "Well…what did you want to speak with me about?"

"Eat first, then we'll talk." he said as dug into a slice of strawberry cake with a fork. Moriarty leaned his back against the table as he happily fed himself. Losing patience, Cecilia quickly grabbed him by the collar of his jacket with one hand, slamming his back down onto the table. Her other hand snatched the fork out of his hand and held the prongs against his neck.

"I prefer to talk now." she snapped.

James grinned. "This is almost erotic, don't you think? Maybe we should move this over to the bedroom?"

"Yeah..." she said, returning the sensual grin. As she slowly sunk the fork deeper in his neck she added, "I like my foreplay a little rough though…" Cecilia let out an annoyed, sharp breath. "You wanted to talk. So…talk!" She released him and Moriarty gasped loudly for air. While she went back to her chair, he chuckled as he rubbed his fingers over the fork indentations on his throat. Jim sat across from her at the table and smiled.

"Fine,” Jim groaned. “No more flirting. I'll get straight to the point."

"Finally..." she muttered as she got a fork full of cake.

He leaned into the table to whisper, "I have come up with my own deduction about you. You're jealous of John Watson." he said suddenly, making Cecilia glare daggers at him.

"That's a stupid accusation." she spat. "Especially for someone like you." Moriarty sighed and leaned against the windowsill once again.

"You have been by Sherlock Holmes' side for...what, possibly twenty-five years? And not even a scratch to unlock the big beautiful door to his humanity." he said sadly. "And one day, Big brother Holmes sends you to France for an assignment. Then...bang!" Moriarty clapped his hands together for emphasis. "...nearly two years later, Sherlock had replaced you with that silly Dr. Watson. And all of the sudden Sherlock begins humanizing. All those years of friendship and he just throws you away. Like rubbish." Moriarty smiled at her. "I would never treat you like that if you were mine, Cecilia Clark." She chuckled quietly at the sound of her real name coming from his mouth. Then she looked up at him deadpan, much to Moriarty's surprise.

"...What are you doing?" she asked, almost pitifully. "Is this really you- Compared to the man I met in Paris? I cannot help but wonder if this is just an act or if it's the real you."

"Why are you so concerned about it?"

"Because I hate people who lie to themselves." Cecilia looked at him up and down slowly. "Because even though Tom was just an act...he seemed less of a lie than the person in front of me right now. So, tell me, James Moriarty...who are you really?" She glared him down, waiting for his eyes to waver, but he stared back with the same challenging intensity. "If you're planning on making me a pawn in this little ‘Capulet versus Montague’ game you and Holmes are playing, I don't want any part." she wiped her mouth with a napkin and tossed it on the plate. After crossing her legs, she turned her attention to the window and watched the clouds. "Besides, I'd be useless as bait. He would never be so anxious to waste his time on something so trivial." Moriarty gave her a frown conveying his pity.

"You really do believe that you’re of little importance to him, don’t you?” he asked softly. “I mean, he has thrown you away multiple times, hasn’t he? Wouldn’t it be best to just end your suffering and cut him off for good?” He smiled reassuringly before taking her hand.

Cecilia watched passively as he stroked her. “Well, that's where you’re wrong.” She pulled her hand away from his then stood. “Sherlock Holmes can literally replace me with a thousand John Watsons and I will be there- I will ALWAYS be there!" Moriarty nearly stumbled backwards as she roughly poked him in his chest. "The Holmes are the only family I have left! And Sherlock…I owe him my life…" Jim gazed at her, feeling a bit heartbroken as he watched tears well up in her eyes. "So don't you DARE...try to question my loyalty to him or assume you can turn me against him. Don't you even attempt to-"

"Okay..." He said softly. "I won't..." She turned around and pinched the bridge of her nose while praying to pull herself together. Jim cautiously approached her from behind, trying to gather words to say. "Cecilia..." he said quietly. She raised a finger to silence him.

"Just give me a minute." she said, blinking back her tears. He couldn't believe it. Why was he feeling so conflicted over this woman? _She tries so hard to appear stoic and aloof...but why?_ she exhaled before looking down at her watch. "Graham Norton is almost on. I have to go." As she spun around to leave, Jim immediately caught her by the wrist. With an exhausted sigh, Cecilia looked back at him waiting for him to say something. He just looked into her eyes searching for the words to say. Cecilia sensed this and she pulled her arm out of his loose grip. “What do you want from me?!” she shouted in frustration. “Why can’t you just leave me alone-“

“I DON’T KNOW!” he screamed back. Cecilia took a step back, shocked at his sudden outburst. James took a step toward her and added exasperatedly, “You think I… _want_ to waste my time with _you_?! Why would I want to be distracted by someone so…nauseatingly attached to Sherlock Holmes that it makes me sick every time I look at her?!” He held his hands out and whined, “I _wish_ I could get rid of you! I WANT to get rid of you!”

“I don’t get it. I’m not following.”

James slapped his hands on his face and groaned. “Stupid. You-you’re so-” He pulled his hands away from his face and bellowed, “STUPID!” Cecilia’s eyes widened and James began panting. “Just…” he turned around to walk away. “Just go…I’m done with you.” He said tiredly, running his hands through his hair.

She stared at him in shock. “What-“

“I said, GO!” he shouted in frustration as he walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Confused at his sudden change in personality, Cecilia turned to head towards the front door. At the last minute, she decided to approach his bedroom door. 

"You." she said derisively at the door. Cecilia waited for him to respond or open the door, after a beat she added calmly, "...Thank you." Jim was leaning against the bedroom door and his body stiffened at her unexpected words. "...I think that was the first time you were actually honest to me." Jim closed his eyes tightly and let out a shaky breath, urging himself to regain composure. Then he spun around and opened the door. 

But she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought about the playlist.


	7. "I Want the One I Can't Have"

**Two Weeks Later**

"Hm..." hummed Sherlock.

"There is no case!" Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade exclaimed. Sherlock, John, and the forensics department stood in the sitting room of a dead man's flat. The dead man sat on the sofa with his bloodied head lolled to the side with bits and pieces of his brain spattered on the wall behind him. Greg, Sherlock, and John stared at the pistol that was in the man's cold, limp hand. On the table in front of the sofa were a dozen empty containers of canned beer and anti-depression medication. Sherlock picked up the pill bottles and shook them by his ear.

"He shows signs of chronic depression, but why would he be depressed?" John asked as Sherlock picked up a broken picture frame of the dead man and a blonde woman. John and Greg glanced at the photo as well.

"Girlfriend left him then." Greg said simply. "Still heartbroken over his old girlfriend so he shot himself."

"Hm..." Sherlock hummed once more.

"Carol Whitman..." said Cecilia. The three men spun around to see her leaning against the doorway to the flat. "She was Mr. Allen’s girlfriend who died in a hit and run car accident two years ago." Sherlock smirked at her.

"I was wondering when you were going to give us your input."

Cecilia narrowed her eyes. "All you were saying was 'hm'. It was getting annoying."

"Ce-?!" Greg cleared his throat, forgetting about her other identity. "Charlotte, when did you get back from Paris?" he asked as he approached her with a hug. She gave him a small grin.

"About two months ago."

John stepped up to them and whispered, “You know her real name?”

“Of course, I do.” Greg mumbled. “Her father and mine used to work together on the force.” Then Greg turned to Cecilia. "Why didn't you tell me once you got into London?" he whined. "We could've went for a pint."

"Can we get back to the task at hand please?" Sherlock groaned.

"How were you even able to deduce the thing about the woman?" John asked. Cecilia took her mobile out and waved it in a mocking manner.

"If you lot bothered to Google some things, you'd solve cases in half the time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Footsteps quickly rushed up the staircase. A blonde man stood on the landing in shock as his eyes landed on the dead man's body.

"Oh my god..." he gasped out, clutching on his own hair in agony. "I should've been here..."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" asked Greg.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at the strange man then said, "He's Mr. Stephen Allen's ex fiancée’s brother. Same hair, same facial features, same eye color." Then he turned to Cecilia to gaze at her smugly. "Can your Google do that?" she gazed boringly back at him.

"Anyone could've gotten that. Even John got it." Sherlock turned John, who was nodding at him.

"It's pretty simple. I'd say they're even twins."

"It's never twins, John." John handed him the photograph of the couple. Sherlock glanced back and forth from the picture and to the man crying. Nearly identical. "Okay John, maybe just this once."

"Can someone cover the body up?!" asked Greg.

"Every weekend, I'd come over to watch some footie on telly. You know...to cheer him up.” Timothy Whitman, brother to Carol Whitman, cried to Greg. “Keep him company. I'm the only family that comes in to check on him.” Sherlock observed him silently as the man kept talking. “He’s been depressed after my sister died, but…I didn’t think he’d actually…” Timothy continued crying while Greg gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“We don’t believe it’s a suicide.” Sherlock told Timothy bluntly, making his head shoot up.

“W-what?”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade exclaimed to bring attention to Sherlock’s lack of empathy.

Timothy shook his head in confusion. “I don’t- I don’t understand.” He said shakily. “What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.” Sherlock replied, giving the man a knowing glare.

At Sherlock’s imploring discretion, Greg Lestrade left to question Mr. Whitman at Scotland Yard while the others stayed at the flat. Sherlock was staring out of the window in the sitting room just as Anderson walked in. "I know what you're thinking Sherlock..." he started, making Sherlock let out an agitated sigh. "He didn't kill him. Timothy Whitman was at a pub on the other side of London when it happened.”

“How convenient that he left a voice message on his mobile a minute before Mr. Allen died.”

“Don’t believe me? Fine.” Anderson picked up the mobile and played Tim Whitman’s message.

“Hey mate,” the voice recording started. A football game and a crowd of people’s conversations could be heard in the background. “Can’t make it tonight. Few pals from uni phoned me last min-Fuck off, mate!” he laughed at a friend nearby before returning back to the phone. “Maybe next time. Cheers.”

“There you have it.” Anderson said smugly before tossing it to Cecilia. As she replayed the message, Sherlock walked to the window, opened it, and looked out below.

“Explain the mud on his trainers and on the hem of his trousers.” He muttered out loud to no one in particular.

“Well, it is muddy outside.”

“Dried mud.” Sherlock specified before squatting down to the floor in front of the window. He ran his fingers across the windowsill and noticed a few spots of dried mud. “He was wearing a freshly laundered shirt.”

“Er- how did you know?” John asked.

“I smelled him, of course. Now why would he be wearing a clean shirt?”

John pursed his lips. “Really…you’re asking why someone would want to wear clean clothes?”

“Yes, that’s what I asked isn’t it?” John stared back blankly, and Sherlock sighed, wondering why he wasn’t blessed with smarter friends. “Let me break it down so you understand.”

“Please!” exclaimed John with forced optimism.

“He entered the same way he left: through this window. Climbed in, shot Stephen, then fled. What Tim wasn’t prepared for was the mud he tracked in. He had to act quickly so he quite literally took the shirt off his own back and mopped up as he left. Then he went home and changed his shirt. If we go to his flat and find the muddy shirt, it will prove my point.”

Anderson sighed. “That’s wonderful and all, but if you’re wrong; the man still has an alibi!”

“Well obviously we can simply check the security footage of the pub and see if he was there.”

“No need.” Cecilia said. “He wasn’t there.”

“And how do you know?”

“In the background…you can hear the sportscaster saying Manchester leading two to zero against Liverpool. Mr. Whitman called at 8:55. But I checked the stats and they were one to one. Clever bastard was using last year’s recording.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but grin at his old friend. “You know, sometimes I forget how useful you can be.”

“Useful? Don’t you mean, awe-inspiring?”

“This is why I don’t compliment you.”

“Calling her useful is a compliment?” asked John.

“From me? Yes.” Then Sherlock turned to Anderson. “Well come on. Call Lestrade, we found our killer.”

* * *

Lestrade, Detective Sally Donovan, John, Sherlock, and Cecilia stood in the observation room as they watched Timothy Whitman through the one-sided glass. “And to think this one cracked it.” Donovan said sardonically. “Welcome back, Freakette. It’s a simple case, so don’t get smug about it.”

Cecilia smirked then turned to her. “If it was so bloody simple, then how come you didn’t solve it? Instead of using your mouth to spout nonsense, stick to what it’s good at: sucking off married men.”

Before Donovan could retort, Lestrade cleared his throat. “But why would he kill him? I don’t understand. He loved his sister. Why kill off her fiancé?”

“Sherlock…” Cecilia said, barely above a whisper. He looked at her staring out into the one-way mirror. She was frozen on the spot once she made the connection. Her body language told him everything he needed to know.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock called. “I’m going in.”

He entered the room and sat at the edge of the table Timothy was sitting at. “Mr. Whitman…” he said quietly. Timothy looked up at him tearfully. "It was him, wasn't it? He was the driver who killed your sister..." Timothy’s whole body was shaking. He dropped his head and watched as the tears splattered on the table.

"I told her...I told Carol to stay away from him. That-that he'll never sober up. He'll never change. But one day she finally had enough and broke up with him. And that day he just waited for her to get out of work. And the bastard just runs her over like she was nothing!" Thomas looked up at Sherlock determined. "When I went to his flat...I almost changed my mind. I just wanted to confront him. I don't think I was going to actually shoot him. But then...but then he laughed. He laughed at me! He told me he was happy he did it!" Timothy began sobbing again. "And I don't regret what I did. I'd do it again. For my sister. I'd do it all over again for her." Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder before walking out of the interrogation room. Lestrade couldn’t believe his ears.

“The bloody bastard did it!”

Cecilia rushed out of the room much to the others’ confusion.

"He's all yours, Inspector." Sherlock said plainly before following Cecilia.

In the cab ride back to 221B, John couldn’t help but ask, "You don't look too good, Cecilia. What's wrong?" Sherlock turned to Cecilia and gave her a look that said, 'I'll tell him if you don't'. "No Sherlock." John said sternly. "Don't coerce her. If she doesn't want to talk about it-"

"My mother was in a car accident," she said quickly while keeping a calm demeanor. "She was a dancer and just finished a show at the Royal Opera House. Drunk driver. Hit and run like Mr. Whitman described."

"God, did she die on scene?"

"...No." she said as she stared out her window. Then she added softly, "Not from the accident, no. She became paralyzed from the waist down. Then killed herself two months later. She danced her whole life until the accident. She felt useless and I don't blame her." Cecilia finally looked at John to see his expected pitying expression. He gazed at her speechless. "Like I said, I'm fine. So you can stop looking at me like that. She died when I was six. I barely remember her." The taxi reached 221B and the two men hesitantly exited the vehicle. Sherlock turned around and held the door open for her. Cecilia shook her head with a smile. "I'm about to go see Mycroft. He probably wants me to go umbrella shopping with him." Sherlock waited for her smile to waver, but knowing her, it didn't. He let out a sigh, nodded, and then shut the taxi door. "The Diogenes Club, please." she said to the driver before pulling away.

Cecilia sighed in exhaustion and continued staring out of the window. "Actually, I need a drink…or two. Could you take me to a bar instead? Doesn’t matter as long as it’s not shit.” She watched the people on the street; the venders, tourists, commuters, families...

Then she finally allowed herself to cry. She could feel her lip begin to tremble. _Don't sob. Please don't sob right now. Wait until you're by yourself_. But the tears didn't stop flowing and she felt herself choke on the sobs.

"Are you okay, miss?" the driver asked in a cockney accent. Cecilia chuckled a little as she wiped her eyes.

"Yes. I'm fine. Thank you." she replied with a laugh. The cab stopped at a red light and Cecilia added, "I'm sorry you had to hear-" the driver turned around with a grin, revealing himself as Jim Moriarty. "Seriously?!" she groaned. James immediately locked the doors as she reached for the handle. As Cecilia went for her pistol, he sprayed some sort of mist at her until she became unconscious. James gazed at her limp body disappointingly.

"You’ll thank me later."

* * *

**The Next Morning**

Cecilia jolted up when she finally realized she was in a foreign place.She found herself on a bed wearing nothing but her knickers and a man's button-down shirt. _Oh god._ She was beginning to panic. _What happened? How did I get here?_ The cologne on the shirt smelled vaguely familiar to her. _Moriarty_. Then it hit her; she remembered the cabbie was him. Cecilia quickly began to search the room for her pistol with no luck. She angrily stalked across the hotel bedroom and slowly opened the door to the sitting room. She scanned the room with her eyes for the man in question.

"Good morning." Moriarty's soft-spoken voice said behind her. Cecilia rolled her eyes and sighed before turning around. Jim stood in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom with one towel wrapped around his hips while he used another towel to dry his hair. "Already looking for your gun? We haven't even had breakfast yet."

"Did you...?" she glanced down at herself uncertainly. "Did you-"

" _Rape_ you?" he finished. Jim shook his head in disappointment. "What sort of monster do you think I am?" Cecilia narrowed her eyes at him.

"You really want me to answer that? I mean, you _did_ kidnap me."

"You were going for your gun. I was only protecting myself. It was for your own good." he said innocently.

"For my own good?!" she exclaimed hysterically.

Jim narrowed his eyes and asked, "You wanted to drink yourself to a drunken stupor. Who knows whose bedroom you would’ve woken up in?" He watched her as she looked at the ceiling in thought. "You looked exhausted. Knocking you out is a kindness on my part." Cecilia crossed her arms and glared at him.

"You can't keep me prisoner for here long." she said smugly. "They'll come and find me." Jim rolled his eyes.

"I already knew that, stupid girl." he said as he opened his wardrobe. "You can leave after breakfast. Your clothes are hanging in the bathroom." Cecilia glared at Jim as he laid out his clothes to change into. Right as he was about to remove his towel, he glanced up at her with a wicked smile and said, “Unless you have something else in mind.” Cecilia rolled her eyes at him as she marched towards the bathroom. While she changed, she couldn't help but wonder about him. She was trying to figure out his motive. Why did he have to keep annoying her? She's not his enemy; Sherlock is. After she put on her jumper, she noticed James leaning against the doorway in his Alexander McQueen suit. “You talk in your sleep when you have nightmares. Did you know that?” he asked as he inserted the cuff-links into his sleeves.

“I have nightmares every time I sleep.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Which is why I don’t like sleeping.” Jim nodded apologetically.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked as he combed back his hair. His question pulled her out of his thoughts.

"What are you talking about?"

Jim looked at her with hooded eyes and said flatly, "You were crying yesterday when I picked you up, remember?"

"It was a reaction to the shit you sprayed in my face." she said snidely.

"Cecilia-" he said sternly before a knock at the door interrupted him. James gave her one last glare before leaving the bathroom to receive room service. Cecilia sighed then proceeded to wash her face.

When she walked into the dining area, she saw two plates of a full English breakfast on the table. Her mouth began salivating. "Coffee or tea?" He asked politely.

"Coffee." she replied as she sat at the table. "How very domestic of you, Mr. Moriarty." she said with a grin. "You treat all your captives like this?"

A smile tugged on his lips as he poured the coffee. "Only the fun ones." James pushed a cup towards her. She raised an eyebrow at him. "…No, it's not… _poisoned_." he said mockingly. Cecilia took a sip then began eating her bacon. James sat perpendicular to her as he made his own coffee. As her eyes wandered around the room, she realized Julie London's crooning voice reverberated throughout the suite.

" _Cry Me a River_..." Cecilia said out loud, remembering the name of the song. James stirred his coffee as he watched her. "The first time I heard this song was in _V for Vendetta._ It’s during the scene after Evey wakes up in V's underground lair." Cecilia let out a humourless laugh and glared at him. "And eventually his obsession with revenge gets himself killed and has Parliament blown up." Jim smirked.

"Are you comparing me to V?"

"No; V had good intentions." she replied flatly. "And you? Well, you just blow up things because you're bored."

He gave her a quick smile before taking his phone out of his trouser pocket. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the opportunity to do more research on your family." Cecilia intentionally dropped her fork onto her plate then groaned. Jim glanced up from his mobile. “What? It’s not like you were going to tell me anyway.”

"I'm actually enjoying a proper breakfast right now." she said through gritted teeth. "Please don't piss me off even more than you already have."

" _May 18th, 1989...Detective Inspector Frederick Clark_ ," he read from his mobile. " _Found dead in front of Scotland Yard-_ "

"Stop." she said furiously.

James continued, " _At approximately 3am, Clark's body was dumped in front of the building_ -" Cecilia grabbed her knife and attempted to stab him, but James was faster. He gripped onto her wrist with one hand nonchalantly. "Temper, temper..." he purred before going back to the article on the screen. " _His body was mutilated and found with multiple stab wounds. It is believed that this was a warning to CID to cease investigations involving the murders committed by Hugh Carrows, whose whereabouts are still unknown._ " James turned to Cecilia and smirked. "Now the next bit is funny to me for some reason." he went back to his mobile and read, "Ten years later... _Serial killer Hugh Carrows found dead in Bristol_." He set his phone on the table then with his free hand, pried the knife out of hers. After giving her a slight shove back into her chair, James added amusingly, "In the photos of Carrows, it appeared whoever killed him, killed him in the same manner he killed your father. Care to elaborate for me, darling?" he smiled wickedly at her as she glared at him.

"You know what I did, so why should I tell you?" she asked venomously. James never dropped his smile.

"I want to hear you say it."

Cecilia sighed and reclined in her chair, crossing her arms in the process. "Sherlock helped me track him." she said simply.

James gazed at her in awe. "You never cease to amaze me, Miss Clark." his eyes lingered on her for a moment before he brought his coffee to his mouth. "How old were you?"

"Nineteen." she replied casually.

James looked forlorn for a moment as he buttered a slice of bread. "It's a shame."

Cecilia snorted. "What is? Don't tell me you were planning on killing him yourself, were you?" she looked at James expectantly as he ate. After not receiving a response, she gazed at him in disbelief. "Why...why on _earth_ would you want to do that for me?"

"Perhaps I want to recruit you." he answered playfully as he continued eating. "I’ve read that you’re an impressive marksman, have good instincts-" Cecilia scoffed.

"Aren't you well equipped with those already? I mean, you probably have a whole lot waiting to be at your beck and call. Especially after your little show with the crown jewels." She drank the rest of her coffee then wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Well, you're wasting your time with me. Although I'm flattered by your proposal, I'm already married to MI6."

"Nope." he said, emphasizing the p. "You're just married to the Holmes." she observed him for a moment.

"You know that I will always say no to you. So why do you insist on recruiting me? Are you just frustrated because for once you can't get what you want? I don't get you." James smiled, but his eyes did not match the emotion on his lips.

"You figure it out. I won't give you an answer so easily."

"Yeah, that would be out of character for you wouldn't it?" she said snidely. Cecilia crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I could do it, you know...Be your little accomplice." James sat up straighter, bringing his full attention to her. "I could do it and pretend that you have my allegiance while still remaining loyal to Holmes then betray you in the end. But I won't."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's all very predictable isn't it? Very 'Bond girl' of me..."

James chuckled. "You're right. Predictable is boring." He picked at his plate silently as she watched him.

"James..." He felt his stomach leap to his heart at the sound of her saying his name. "You know...it's a shame you're Sherlock's enemy because I think...I think we could've been good friends." James couldn't bring himself to look at her. He remained in his chair staring at his food, trembling. Cecilia scooted her chair back and proceeded to stand up. "Thanks for breakfast." Without thinking, James grabbed her wrist as she turned away. Cecilia looked back at him confused. He continued sulking as he held onto her. "What the hell do you want?!"

"I want...you." he slowly lifted his head to face Cecilia, who was just staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Didn't you hear a word I said? Recruit someone else."

James slapped his hands onto his face and let out an agonizing groan. "Why...?" he whined softly. "Why? Why? WHY?!" he slid his hands down his face and narrowed his eyes at her. "I used to think your naivety was adorable but now it's becoming excruciatingly painful, Cecilia."

Cecilia gazed at him with uncertainty. "I don't under-"

"Of course you don't understand, love. I keep forgetting you're quite dumb when it comes to this ordeal." he moaned. James sighed and pulled out his mobile to read his emails. She kept looking at him waiting for him to add anything else. He noticed this and glanced up at her before going back to his phone. "Go on now. Don't want to spoil the rest of your day."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

She put her hands on her hips and stuttered, "S-so you'll leave me alone then? You won't...kidnap me anymore?"

He sighed and opened the calendar app on his mobile. "Haven't decided yet." he said nonchalantly. "I might just give up since you're just so...hopeless." James cringed at the revelation. "But don't you worry, my dear. I'm not done playing with you yet." He gave her a humourless smile then went back to his device. Cecilia laughed uncomfortably then walked towards the door. Once she shut the front door behind her, James groaned exasperatedly and threw his head back. "This woman will be the death of me."

* * *

**An hour later. 221B Baker Street.**

"...And that's basically what happened." she said to Sherlock and John as she ate some crisps out of boredom. "Now I finally get it. He wants me to be his live in. A poor man's John Watson."

John stared at her in awe as if she was stupid. "Erm...I don't think that's what he meant. Besides, don't you mean 'a poor man's Cecilia Clark'? I'm essentially your replacement, right?"

"Hmm?" she was seemingly not paying attention to anything he just said. John was a bit bothered by this. "But I was never Sherlock's live in. Not after we moved out of his parents' home." Cecilia put another crisp in her mouth as she stared off into space. "...Moriarty is sort of a boring villain, isn't he? What kind of criminal invites an enemy over for dinner? Like am I not good enough to strap a bomb on?"

"That's not exactly something to be proud of." John muttered. He looked up at Sherlock who was pacing the room. "Please talk some sense into her."

"He's really persistent on recruiting me." she continued flatly. "Imagine the headlines. Old friend of famous detective joins the dark side." Cecilia crunched on another crisp. "He's like...Darth Sidious and I'm Anakin Skywalker."

John chimed in, "And Sherlock is Obi-Wan?"

"Exactly, John."

"Would you two idiots stop yapping?" Sherlock groaned. Cecilia narrowed her eyes.

"You're just frustrated because you don't understand pop culture." she mocked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, because your silly Harry Potter references fascinates me so much that I must allow it to take up valuable space in my mind."

John shook his head. "It was a Star Wars reference, but I'm amazed you could even guess Harry Potter." Cecilia smirked at John's comment then stood up from her chair.

"C'mon, John. Let's leave the boy alone. Wouldn't want to distract him from his genius."

John stood and followed her out the door. "I know a great Chinese place."

Once the door shut behind them, Sherlock continued pacing in his flat. "What is going on in your mind, Moriarty...?" 


	8. "Suffer Little Children"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Abuse/Drug Addiction

**TWO MONTHS LATER.**

John had been forcibly taken to Mycroft's Diogenes Club office by two security guards. After John took one last look at the two men, the doors firmly closed behind him. He turned around and saw Mycroft standing at the other side of the room. "Seriously?" asked John, annoyed. "You can just text me directions or something.

"Tradition, John." Mycroft replied as he poured a drink from his crystal decanter into two glasses. "Our traditions define us."

"So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, “Pass the sugar.'"

Mycroft turned around to face John with the two glasses in his hand. "Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me. They don’t want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here." John reached out his hand to grab a glass.

"Thanks-" Mycroft took a step back and looked at John confused.

"This isn't for _you_." At that moment, the doors opened and closed as Cecilia walked into the room reading a copy of "The Sun". Without taking her eyes off the paper, she took the glass from Mycroft and sat in one of the leather chairs in the middle of the room. John looked slightly unnerved that he was ignored.

"Erm--Hello, Cecilia." John said.

"Not now." she replied nonchalantly. John fought back the urge to yell at the woman. He then looked at Mycroft pointedly, who simply shrugged. Yep, they all definitely grew up together. "They’re doing a big exposé on Saturday."

John squinted to read the announcement at the top of the front page she was holding. “SHERLOCK: THE SHOCKING TRUTH” with the strapline “Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All”.

"I’d love to know where she got her information." John said.

"Someone called Brook." Mycroft replied. "Recognise the name?"

John shook his head. "School friend, maybe?" Cecilia and Mycroft both laughed at his deduction.

"Of Sherlock’s?" Mycroft questioned before chuckling again. "You and Cecilia are the only friends he has. But that’s not why I asked you two here." He walked to a side table and picked up several folders. Mycroft handed the folders to John and waited for him to open the first file.

"Who’s that?" John asked, staring at a photograph.

"Don’t know him?" Mycroft asked.

"No."

"Never seen his face before?" John took another look at the photograph. "He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you."

"Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbours." He smiled sarcastically up at Mycroft who looked back at him straight-faced.

"Not sure you’ll want to." Mycroft replied before nodding towards the folder. "Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer living less than twenty feet from your front door."

"It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy."

"Ho-Ho!" Cecilia laughed as she continued reading the paper. "John Watson; medical degree in Sass." Mycroft glared at Cecilia in disapproval before looking back at John.

"John..."

"What’s it got to do with me?" he interrupted.

Mycroft nodded at the next file. "Dyachenko, Ludmila." He sat down opposite John, who let out a long, tired groan as he opened the file and squinted at the photograph.

"Um, actually, I think I have seen her."

Cecilia turned another page of her paper and said with a straight face, "Leave it up to you to notice anything with breasts." John cut his eyes at her.

"Focus!” Mycroft said crossly. “Russian killer. She’s taken the flat opposite."

"Okay," John said warily. "I’m sensing a pattern here."

"In fact,” Mycroft continued, “Four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?"

After glancing at the photographs of the other assassins, John looked up at Mycroft. "I’m...moving?" Cecilia grinned as she scribbled her pen on her copy of The Sun. She added a third tally under John's name while Mycroft still had zero.

Mycroft looked back at John unamused. "It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?"

"If this was Moriarty, we’d be dead already." John said.

Cecilia tsked critically and said, "You already know Moriarty likes to play. He had his chance to have you both killed at the pool and here you are...very much alive."

John turned back to Mycroft and asked, "Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?"

Mycroft looked away and toyed with the glass on the table beside him. "Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments."

“Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?” John joked. Mycroft glowered at him as John smirked at Cecilia laughing. She added another tally under John’s name. 

Mycroft turned to Cecilia and said, "Fetch us some biscuits, if you will?"

Still reading the paper, Cecilia replied, "Don't you have wait staff to do it for you?" After feeling his eyes burn into her skull, she sighed and folded the newspaper. "Fine! Your majesty..." Cecilia gave him a sarcastic bow. 

Once she left the room, Mycroft immediately said in a hushed tone, "Whatever I say next, will not leave this room."

"What are-"

"Will NOT leave this room."

John nodded. "Okay..."

"When they were at uni, he went on a heroin bender. You know how addicts can get…and with Sherlock’s personality…let’s say the two had a falling out." Mycroft inhaled and exhaled slowly. "It really affected Cee to the point she ended up in the hospital…” Mycroft paused for a moment. “Well, it was ages ago. She forgave him obviously, but I don't think I have."

John sighed, trying to let this new information settle in his brain. "Jesus Christ..."

Cecilia walked back into the room, unhappily waving a tin of biscuits. Her mobile pinged, prompting her to unlock her phone. “John,” she said. “We gotta go. Kidnapping.”

"I'll be going then." John said as he stood up.

"We both know what’s coming, John.” Mycroft said warningly. “Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival."

"So you want us to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help."

"Hello?" Cecilia called out. "I said, kidnapped children!"

Ignoring her, Mycroft replied to John, "If it’s not too much trouble." He directed a smile at John, but it quickly faded. His expression became more threatening. John held his gaze for a moment, then passed Cecilia on his way out. 

Once Cecilia got herself comfortable inside the cab, she said to John, “You’ll be meeting up with Sherlock at St. Aldate’s. I have some business with your new neighbors at Baker Street to take care of.” She was met with silence. Looking up from her mobile, Cecilia could see John in thought as he stared out of his window. “Worried about those assassins, are you?” she chuckled. “Don’t fret, Dr. Watson. I have it under control.”

“I’m not worried about the assassins.”

“Then what?” Cecilia and John gazed at each other knowingly. “Ugh, he’s fine.”

“I’m not talking about Sherlock; I’m talking about you.”

“Mycroft told you what happened, didn’t he?” she asked flatly. John looked away, feeling awkward.

“He definitely left out some important bits out, but he summed it up.”

Cecilia smiled politely. “It was nearly twenty years ago. You don’t have to pity me, John. Although I feel flattered you care about my feelings.”

“Why wouldn’t I care? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Friends…” she breathed out as if she were testing the word. 

_Sherlock rang her flat’s doorbell six times before she finally opened the door. Before she had a chance to say anything, Sherlock barged into the living room. “Christ, Holmes. It’s one in the morning.” She yawned as she shut the door. “You know we have examinations tomorrow, right?” Cecilia rubbed her sleepy eyes then watched him pace the room._

_“I have a case, Cee. It’s brilliant. You’ll_ love _this one.” He said quickly as he smiled and laughed to himself. Cecilia narrowed her eyes, trying to assess him. “Come on now. Grab your coat.” He opened her coat closet and pulled one out, letting the hanger drop to the floor. She saw sweat seeping out of his pores and his eyes were dilated._

_“Sherlock…” she said slowly. “Sit down.”_

_“There_ is _no time!” He exclaimed, anxiously. “Where’s your telephone? Phone a cab.”_

_“Is it…cocaine this time?” she asked with concern. Sherlock rolled his eyes._

_“Fine._ I’ll _phone one.” He groaned, searching frantically for her landline._

_“Sherlock. Look at me.”_

_“You’re worthless.” He mumbled as he fiddled with his coat. “Can’t even do one simple--” Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh. “I’ll go on my own then!” He turned to leave for the door and she grabbed onto the tail of his coat._

_“No, you can’t leave until-“_

_“Get off of me!”  
  
_ _“Sherlock please!” She pleaded, struggling to pull him away from the door. In the heat of frustration, Sherlock swung his arm around. A blow from his fist planted her onto the floor. He blinked hard, realizing what he had done. His eyes widened at the view of Cecelia sitting on the floor, holding a hand to her bruised face. Before he could say a word, she stood and shoved him outside into the rain._

_“Leave.” She said venomously. Her eyes were glistening with hatred._

_Sherlock choked out, “I’m-I’m-” Cecilia waited a moment for him to finish his sentence to no avail. She scoffed._

_“You can’t even say it, huh?” He wanted to apologize. The words just wouldn’t come out._

_“Goodbye Holmes.” And with that, she slammed the door shut.  
  
  
_

She stared out the window for a few more moments before looking back at John. “John?” he looked back at her, waiting. With a small smile she added, “Sherlock’s really lucky to have you.”

John’s eyebrows pulled together; a reaction Cecilia wasn’t expecting.

“You do know I’m not gay, right?”

“For god’s sakes, that’s not what I meant!”

* * *

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL.**   
  


Sherlock and John bumped into Cecilia in one of the corridors. “And look who finally decided to show up.” Sherlock said sarcastically as they continued walking to the lab. Cecilia rolled her eyes at his comment.  
  
“I told you I was busy and you had John!” Just as they were getting closer, Molly Hooper walked through the doors, pulling her coat on.

“Molly!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Oh, hello. I’m just going out. Hi, Charlie." Sherlock's brows furrowed at Cecilia's fake nickname.

"Sup, Hooper." She replied nonchalantly.

“When did you two become well acquainted?”

“She comes here a lot.” Molly replied. “Well, I’ve got to go. Lunch date.”

“Cancel it. You’re having lunch with me.” Reaching into his coat pockets, he dramatically produces a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket.

“How filling.” Cecilia said unenthusiastically, referring to the crisps.

Molly gazed at Sherlock, confused. “Need your help.” He said. “It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!” He turned and smiled back at Molly, who stopped dead a few paces back.

“It’s Moriarty?” asked both John and Cecilia.

“Course it’s Moriarty.”

“Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend.” Molly interjected. “We went out three times. I ended it.”

“Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.” Then he looked at Cecilia, arrogantly. “You too. Not that you have any problem with that, Ice Queen.”

Cecilia turned to Sherlock with a smug look. “Molly went out with him three times! More times than I have-“

“Yes, but you’re practically family. So, your betrayal greatly exceeds hers.” Sherlock turned towards the lab doors then spun back around to face her. “And you also slept with him.”

“I get it, you cock.” Cecilia muttered through gritted teeth. “I get it.”

As Sherlock turned around to walk into the lab, Cecilia gave him the middle finger behind his back. “I know what you’re doing.” He called out, not bothering to turn around, leaving Cecilia to curse amongst herself.

Shortly afterwards, Molly pushed her way through the door into the laboratory, weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she was carrying. As she staggered into the room, Sherlock sat at the bench in front of a microscope while John stood at the corner of the lab.

“Oil, John. The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint – it’ll lead us to Moriarty.”

Cecilia found a quiet corner of the room next to John and laid across three chairs. “Not going to assist him?” John asked her. 

With eyes closed she replied, “With what? The only reason why he even asked me to be here is so there’s an audience to clap for him when he’s solved it.” She pretended to cheer before adding, “Being his little bitch-boy isn't really my area. Waste of time.” John raised an eyebrow before looking over at Sherlock and Molly.

"I need that analysis." Sherlock demanded. Molly squeezed some liquid into a glass dish and applied some Litmus paper to it.

Once the paper turned blue, she said to Sherlock, "Alkaline."

"Thank you, John."

"Molly." she replied tersely.

"Yes."

John turned back to Cecilia, who was smiling with her eyes closed. "Exhibit A; bitch-boy." she said quietly. John got the gist that she made her point and walked away. Molly turned away from Sherlock unhappily. At the last minute, she decided to approach Cecilia who was trying to nap. Molly stood nervously beside her for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Cecilia opened one eye to look at her then closed it again. “What is it, Hooper?” she groaned.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.” She closed her eyes, embarrassed. “No, sorry. You’re…alive. He’s a man, and you’re a woman...obviously.”

Cecilia opened her eyes to gaze at Molly pathetically. “Did you really just walk over here to tell me that?”

Molly cringed but continued, “When he was ... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.”

“Get to the point, Hooper.” She replied boringly. 

“You look sad…” Molly interrupted, making Cecilia raise an eyebrow. Molly glanced behind her to look at Sherlock. “…when you think he can’t see you.” Cecilia’s eyes followed Molly’s as they watched Sherlock across the lab, jotting down his findings on a notebook. Then the two women looked back at each other. “Are you okay? And don’t just say you are.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.”

Cecilia sat up straight and thought for a moment. Then she smiled at Molly. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t do that.” Molly said immediately, taking Cecilia off guard. “Sorry. It’s just- I know a fake smile when I see one.” Cecilia’s smile gradually disappeared as Molly continued, “Look…if there’s anything you need…”

Cecilia strained her eyes at her. “What could I need from you? From anyone?”

Molly shrugged and answered, “I dunno. A friend?” Cecilia let out a quiet laugh before laying back down on the chairs. Cecilia closed her eyes and crossed her arms behind her head for support.

“Friends…” she muttered. “People keep saying that word to me and I keep getting shocked by it.”

“Maybe you’re just shocked you can make them.” Cecilia opened her eyes to look at Molly once more.

“No,” she said softly. “It’s just not a word I hear a lot when people refer to me. But…thanks.” Then she closed her eyes again and added with a grin, “It looks good on you, Hooper.”

Molly looked at her confused. “What does?”

“Confidence.” Molly just smiled for a moment, then walked away.

After what seemed like ages, Sherlock finally got results. “The glycerol molecule. PGPR!” The exclamation woke Cecilia up from her slumber.

“What’s that?” John asked.

Sherlock leapt to his feet. “It’s used in making chocolate. Charlotte!” he called out to Cecilia. “Nap time’s over. We’re looking for a disused sweet factory.”

As John and Cecilia followed him out of the lab she asked, “Is the kidnapper Willy Wonka?” John laughed as Sherlock cut his eyes at her.

* * *

**SCOTLAND YARD.**

Hours have passed and the Yard successfully retrieved the kidnapped children, but the suspect remained at large. Sherlock paced outside an office while John and Cecilia sat nearby. The door to the office opened and Sally Donovan and Greg walked out.

“Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn…” Donovan said sarcastically.

With a serious look, Greg said warningly to Sherlock, “Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to…”

“Not be myself.” Finished Sherlock.

Greg nodded. “Yeah. Might be helpful.”

Sherlock led Cecilia and John into the office where the kidnapped girl was being held for questioning. “Claudette, I…” One look at Sherlock and the girl started to scream in terror. “No-no, I know it’s been hard for you…” She continued to scream while pointing a finger at him.

“Out. Get out!” Lestrade demanded as he pulled Sherlock out of the room.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock stood at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Sally stood at the other side of the office and watched him thoughtfully. Cecilia noticed this.

“Makes no sense.” John said with a shake of his head.

“The kid’s traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.” replied Greg.

“So what’s she said?”

“Hasn’t uttered another syllable.” answered Donovan.

John nodded. “And the boy?”

Frowning, Greg replied, “No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care. Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.”

“He’s smart…” Cecilia muttered. She’d been silent since Sherlock’s failed attempt to question Claudette.

“Sorry?” Greg asked.

“Moriarty...” She answered, almost in a daydream state. Cecilia gazed off in a distance. “Holmes, your shoe size is 11.5, correct? Same as the kidnapper’s.” Sherlock tore himself away from the window and gave her a hesitant yes. “Men with that shoe size are usually six foot tall.” Cecilia turned to look at Sherlock pointedly. “And you’re six foot, aren’t you?” Her question wasn’t a question at all, more like a hint. She turned to Lestrade and stated, “I suspect that little girl screamed because Moriarty hired a Sherlock Holmes look alike to kidnap them. Not really hard to do. Just dress up a lanky six-footer with dark, curly hair in a coat, blue scarf; and you’ve got yourself a Sherlock.”

“Lanky?” Sherlock asked, offended. Cecilia shrugged before glancing back over at Sally Donovan, who didn’t appear convinced.

“That’s plausible. Well, come on.” Greg said before leaving the room. They all left the room, except for Cecilia, who stared at the table thoughtfully. John popped his head back into the office.

“Are you coming?” he asked her.

“I’ll meet up with you two later.” John gave her a dejected nod before following Sherlock outside. Cecilia’s phone went off, alerting her of a message. With a sigh, she opened her texts to see a link sent from Tom. Hesitantly, she tapped the link, which then played Elvis Costello’s ‘Watching the Detectives’. _“They beat him up until the teardrops start, but he can’t be wounded ‘cause he’s got no heart…”_ Cecilia’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You think you’re so funny…”

After taking a moment to collect herself, Cecilia walked into the Detective Inspector’s office and shut the door behind her. “Cecilia-“  
  
“Quiet.” She said immediately. “Just hear me out.” Greg leaned back into his office chair and stared at her, waiting patiently. Cecilia let out a sharp breath. “You know what they’re going to say. I see it on Donovan’s and Anderson’s faces. They think he’s involved and that’s exactly what Moriarty wants: to discredit him.” Greg watched her as she paced the office. “You believe me, right? Believe Sherlock?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then why-WHY do I see a hint of doubt on your face?!” she shouted. Cecilia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping it would calm herself down. “You and I both know I’ve known him my whole life. No one can fake being an obnoxious dickhead all the time.” Greg snorted. Just then, Donovan and Anderson knocked on the door. Cecilia glanced at the door then looked back at Greg, anxiously.

“I’ll text you.” With a defeated sigh, Cecilia turned to the door and walked out while glaring her eyes at the two.

Cecilia walked out of the building and stared at the sky thoughtfully for a moment. As if she was struck with an idea, she pulled out her mobile and dialed 1 on speed dial. As she held the mobile to her ear, she used her other hand to flag down a cab. While she climbed into the cab she said into the phone, "Hey. Quick question. Do you still have it?"

* * *

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car arrested. Soon John was slammed up against the car next to him. Sherlock looked across to him with an amused expression on his face. “Joining me?” he asked.

“Yeah.” John answered. “Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent.” Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlocked the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transferred it to John’s right wrist. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they are standing.

“Bit awkward, this.” Sherlock said to John.

“Huh.” John hummed in agreement. “Do you think Cecilia will bail us out?”

“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.” Rapidly Sherlock reached through the open window of the police car with his free hand and pressed down on the Talk button. Instantly, the officer behind the boys doubled over in pain as a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through his earpiece. Sherlock reached behind him and pulled the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. “Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?” he said loudly, much to John’s complete shock. Greg’s mouth opened in disbelief. He didn’t think Sherlock would go this far. No one followed Sherlock’s direction causing him to raise the gun skywards and fire it twice.

“NOW would be good!” Sherlock shouted before pointing it at the police again.

“Do as he says!” Greg shouted. As all the officers started to kneel, the boys began to back away. 

“Just-just so you’re aware,” John said loudly. “the gun is his idea. I’m just a...you know…”

Sherlock transferred the pistol to his right hand and promptly aimed it at John’s head. “My hostage!”

John gasped in agreement. “Hostage! Yes, that works – that works! So what now?”

A motorbike raced down the road behind them and turned a corner out of sight. Sherlock saw this and sighed in relief. Perfect timing. "Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run."

After he turned and began running down the road with John dragging behind him, Sherlock saw the motorcyclist in the alleyway waiting for them. The motorcyclist flipped the visor on their helmet up, revealing Cecilia's eyes. "Hurry up!" she shouted. John hesitantly climbed on behind her as Sherlock sat behind him.

“This is so emasculating…” John grumbled.

“You know what else is? Prison.” She said annoyed. They heard the police sirens wail warningly. "Now hold on!" Cecilia yelled. Her wheels screeched before racing out to the junction. "We need to get out of sight! Any suggestions?!"

"Mycroft?!" shouted John as they turned into another alleyway.

"Now's not the time to reconcile!" Sherlock shouted over the engine. Cecilia thought for moment and looked at the tourists on the streets.

"I have an idea!"

* * *

The three of them found themselves sitting in a capsule looking over London in the London Eye. "Well, you were right." said John to Cecilia as she used a hairpin and her penknife to lock pick their handcuffs. "This will be the last spot to look for Sherlock Holmes." John's wrist was freed from the cuffs and Cecilia moved to work on Sherlock's. John sighed and leaned back as they looked at the city. For a moment everything is calm and right with the world.

"I don't even think I've been on here before." she said softly.

"Neither have I." Sherlock said in awe. For a moment they are just simple tourists. Then his expression went back to business. "One of our neighbours from Baker Street was following us."

"I interrogated him when you were both at St. Aldate’s." Cecilia said simply, making John and Sherlock look at her confused. "I told you, I was busy. He said Moriarty left a key code at your flat. That's why they were trying to protect you." she said as she continued picking at Sherlock's handcuff.

"You knew it would come to this.” John said to her. “You knew Sherlock would be arrested and came up with an escape plan."

"I could see it coming after I saw the look on Donovan’s face. I would never give those pricks the satisfaction of putting him behind bars." Sherlock smirked at her remark. At that moment she unlocked his cuffs, freeing his wrist. “Until the very end, remember?” John watched as Sherlock and Cecilia locked eyes. Her knew she was referring to some inside joke or memory those two shared. A reassuring smile tugged on Sherlock's lips before he turned to John.

"It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come."

“ _Get Sherlock_.” Cecilia quoted. "I thought it was just his way of taunting police so they could get you to help?"

"We've obviously underestimated how far Moriarty would go. We need to get back into the flat and search." Sherlock said in a serious tone.

"CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?" John asked him.

"It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals."

Cecilia looked down at her watch. "We have nearly twenty minutes left of this ride. We need to come up with another bolt hole."

John shifted on his seat, crinkling a newspaper under his bum in the process. He looked down and realized he'd been sitting on a copy of The Sun in the capsule. "Yeah, well, have you seen this?" he asked Sherlock as he pulled out the newspaper from under him. John ironed the front page out on his lap and read, "A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook." Sherlock slowly turned his head, thinking about the name. "Who is he?"

Sherlock's and Cecilia's eyes met as if the same thought crossed their minds. She grinned as she stared at the photo of reporter, Kitty Riley, on the paper. "Let's find out."


	9. "Miserable Lie"

Kitty Riley hesitantly pushed the door open to her flat. Before she was able to reach for the light switch, the lights come on and she is greeted with the sight of Sherlock and John sitting side by side on her sofa. “Too late to go on the record?” Sherlock asked her.

A vague metallic noise prompted Kitty to turn around and see Cecilia on the stairs screwing a silencer onto her Walther PPK handgun. "Hello Miss Riley." she said with a smile. "Kiss...?" Cecilia then aimed the weapon at her and added, "Or tell?"

Not long afterwards, Kitty sat in an armchair in the corner of the room while the others stand in the middle glaring at her. "Congratulations." Sherlock said sarcastically. "The truth about Sherlock Holmes. The scoop that everybody wanted, and you got it. Bravo!"

"I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so..."

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?" Sherlock asked as he paced the sitting room. Kitty shook her head, refusing to tell him any more. "Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone."

"I can always shoot her." Cecilia suggested nonchalantly. John and Kitty stared at her in shock. Confused at their expressions, she suggested. "…Water boarding then?"

Sherlock continued, "There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?"

Outside in the hallway there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face when someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.

"Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." They all stared at Jim in utter shock. Cecilia quickly aimed her pistol at Jim, who immediately dropped the shopping bag and backed away. He held up his hands protectively in front of him as he stared at Cecilia, terrified. "You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.

"You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.

"You want to test that theory?" Cecilia asked her harshly, not tearing her eyes away from Jim.

John pointed at Jim and shouted, "So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!"

“Of course he’s Richard Brook.” Kitty replied. “There is no Moriarty. There never has been.”

“What are you talking about?” John asked.

“Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.”

Unsure what to do, Cecilia glanced at Sherlock, who was gazing at Jim in pure fury.

With a shaky voice, Jim said to John, “Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man.” He raised his hands defensively and gestured towards Cecilia. “Don’t…Don’t let her hurt me." 

“No, you are Moriarty!” John was screaming now. “We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!”  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Jim said fearfully before gesturing towards Sherlock. “He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?”

Defeated, Cecilia dropped the arm that was holding the gun. _Is this really happening?_

Kitty handed John a folder of documents, including her upcoming article. “It’s all here – conclusive proof.” she said as John looked through them. “You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.” She said to Sherlock. “Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.”

“Stop this…” Cecilia said softly. “I’m done listening to this.”

“Cee!” John exclaimed. “You’ve known Sherlock the longest. Tell them!”

“There’s no point in arguing,” she added. “It’s too late.”

"You have to believe me! I’m…I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD." Jim pleaded to Cecilia as she approached the door to leave. She paused to give a sad look at Jim then slammed the door shut.

John waved the folder to bring Kitty’s attention to it. “So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!” He shook his head in disbelief.

“He knows I am. I have proof.” Jim cried out. “I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!” Sherlock half-smiled at him but there was no humour in his eyes. Kitty took out another folder and gave it to John. Inside were Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website. Jim turned to Sherlock and said, “Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over.” Sherlock bared his teeth in anger, making Jim back away terrified. “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!”

“Stop it.” Sherlock said before adding furiously, “Stop it NOW!”

Jim turned away and bolted up the stairs while Sherlock and John chased after him. Jim ran into the bathroom and slammed it shut before jumping through the open window. As he ran into an alleyway, Cecilia stood waiting there for him and immediately shot him in the leg. “You bastard.” Once he fell to the ground, she dropped her arms and began to approach him, breathing heavily. Out of nowhere, a black bag covered her head and a hand muffled her screaming. One of Jim’s bodyguards come up to him while another threw her into a SUV that was waiting at the opposite end of the alleyway. “Are you alright, Mr. Moriarty?”

“Yeah.” He groaned as his bodyguard helped him up. “Can’t believe she actually shot me.” He quickly limped towards the SUV as the guard hurried behind him.

Sherlock and John headed out onto the street searching around them. John stopped while Sherlock to paced rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road. John looked to both ways of the road and said, “Cecilia…actually left.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Doubt her. She’s probably on her way to find out where Moriarty is hiding out. She wouldn’t just give up on me.” Sherlock stopped pacing to raise an eyebrow at John, who was grinning. “What?”

“Nothing.” John wiped the smile off his face then asked, “Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?”

“He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.”

“Your word against his.” Said John as he rifled through the folder of Kitty’s documents.

“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to…” Sherlock stopped in his tracks, realizing something.  
  
“Sherlock?”

“Something I need to do.”

“What? Can I help?”

“No – on my own.” Sherlock briskly walked away, leaving his friend alone. John sighed wondering what to do.

* * *

Mycroft walked across one of the common rooms in the Diogenes Club, heading for his office. When he reached the room, he realized John was sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him.

“She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.” John said pointedly as he skimmed through the folder.

“Ah.” Mycroft replied before taking the armchair opposite of him.

“Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Three names: yours, Cecilia's, and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me.” John threw the contents onto the table between them. “I guess he could've gotten it from Cecilia, but I doubt it though. She barely likes talking about herself, so I doubt she'd blab about Sherlock-"

"What do you mean he could've gotten it from her?"

John smiled sarcastically. "Oh, Sherlock hasn’t told you? She and your pal Jim had some sort of relationship in Paris."

"That was him?!" Mycroft exclaimed, horrified.

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You probably set her up with him as bait.”

Mycroft retorted, “I would never exploit her in that manner!”

“Oh, like you would never exploit your brother?” John snapped back.

Mycroft walked across the room to face him. “John...”

“So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?” Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but John stopped him again. “Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.”

“I never inten...I never dreamt...”

“So this,” John interrupted as he looked through Kitty’s papers. “This...is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it? ‘Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.’ And that’s why you’ve brought Cecilia back. To protect him.” He slapped the papers back down on the table and leaned back into his chair. “How did you meet him?”

Mycroft drew in a long breath. “People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.”

“And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?”

“Interrogated him for weeks.”

“And?”

“He wouldn’t play along. He just sat there, staring into the darkness. I could get him to talk…just a little, but…”

“... in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So, one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.” John leaned forward in his chair. “Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.”

He pulled in a sharp breath and then got to his feet, turning towards the door.

“John...” Mycroft said, stopping John. “I’m sorry.”

“No…If you’re going to apologize, apologize to Cecilia.” John drew in a breath. “I haven’t known her long, but I can tell she’s suffering. And you and Sherlock are the only ones keeping her together. If we lose him…” John paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Just fix this.”

“I am sorry...Just tell them, would you?” Mycroft said softly. John opened the door and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.


	10. "I Started Something I Couldn't Finish"

A few hours later, the bag that covered Cecilia’s head was pulled off and the restraints that bound her were removed. She squinted, urging her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. She slowly turned her head to see Jim sitting in a chair glaring at her. He was only wearing his underpants and his t-shirt. “I will congratulate you.” he said impassively as swallowed a few painkillers. “You’re the first person to ever shoot Jim Moriarty.”

She smirked upon seeing his bandaged leg. "I'd say sorry, but…I don’t give a shit about your feelings."

"Why didn't you just kill me?" he asked smugly.

"Please...That's not my job. This is only between you and Holmes."

"The Capulets and Montagues..." he said with a hint of annoyance, quoting Cecilia from their last meeting.

"Exactly." Jim stared at her for a minute before going to his closet. "What are you going to do now?" she asked, slowly sitting up.

"The game isn’t over, Cecilia. Sherlock has yet to confront the final problem." He brought out a suit from his closet before looking at a selection of ties. “You’ve said before that Sherlock is what I could’ve been and vice versa. Those words have resonated within me ever since.”

“Why is destroying Sherlock so important to you? What the hell will you gain from this?” she said tightly as Jim changed into his clothes. He turned around, buttoning his shirt before looking up at her with a grin.

“Nothing. I just want to break him…make him realize that perhaps…” Jim shrugged sheepishly. “He isn’t as clever as he thinks.”

Cecilia snorted as she stood up. “Men and your egos.” She replied with a groan. “You get all this power and then once you feel challenged, you have this need to prove yourself.” Cecilia walked past Jim, grabbing his McQueen skull tie out of his closet, then put it under his collar. “And that’s your weakness.” She muttered as she proceeded to tie. “So…if you want to know who the smarter one is or who is the most superior, I’ll tell you now: neither of you. Both of you are stupid. So stop being a child, throw your pride away, and carry on with your life.” Cecilia finished her knot. Just as she was about to drop her hands, Jim clutched onto them, holding her hands by his face.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked angrily.

She glared at him and replied tightly, “What are you talking about? I don’t.”

“You’ve had your chance to kill me. To end this. So why haven’t you?”

Cecilia tried to pull her hands away from him. “I told you-!”

“I may be stupid, Cecilia, but you’re a fucking liar.” He whispered before letting go of her hands. “You keep going on and on about how you don’t care. It’s annoying.” Jim went into his drawer, pulled out her pistol and placed it in her hands. “Prove it to me.” Cecilia stared in shock at the weapon in her hand. Jim waited. As the pause grew, he rolled his eyes then put his hands over hers, forcing her to aim the gun at his forehead. “Shoot me and get it over with.”

“What the hell-“

“Do it, damn it!”

“Why are-“

“JUST FUCKING DO IT ALREADY!” She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t expecting this. Should she shoot him? Is this a mind game? What was stopping her? Jim could feel her hands shaking. With a groan, Jim threw the gun to the side and put his suit jacket on. “Spineless. That’s what I thought…” he muttered. “You have a heart, Cecilia. Congratulations. Though, I feel somewhat honoured that you think I’m worthy enough to be spared.”

“So what are you going to do if I let you walk out of here?”

“Sherlock and I…have a date at Bart’s. We’ll be deducing a cadaver.”

Cecilia crossed her arms. “What, are you going to kill him?”

Jim snorted. “Nope, I’m just going to have a little chat. And if it somehow ends in his death…” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Then, it was his choice.” Cecilia stood there thoughtfully for a moment. She bit hard on her lip.

_Damn it. Forgive me, Holmes._ “Is that offer still on the table?”

“Hm?” Jim looked tiredly at her. “What offer?”

Cecilia sighed. “Recruiting me. Is it too late?” He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her question.

“I never pulled it off the table.”

Determined more than ever, Cecilia said, “I’ll accept it if you keep him alive. I’ll even help you toy with him for the rest of your life. Just let the bastard live.”

He was in disbelief. “You’re bluffing.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Maybe it's the Stockholm's talking, but I’m completely serious."

Jim grinned. "You’re out of your mind." _This is too good to be true_ , he thought. “Why now?”

“Because you’re right. I do somewhat care about you.” She said flatly. “It’s hard not to because we understand each other…or maybe because I was able to open up to you. I don’t know.” Cecilia rubbed her temples and sighed. “We’re two lonely souls with no home. We’re the same.”

He let out a laugh. "Is this the part where you tell me that I'm just misunderstood, and my crimes are simply a cry for help?"

Coolly, she replied, "No. You're quite deranged." Jim smiled humourlessly at her. "But I believe your attachment to me to due to the fact you were jealous of Holmes and wanted a John Watson as well."

"Don't insult me!" he spat. Jim walked up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I didn’t become ‘attached’ to you because I wanted a friend. I’m attached to you because I’m in love with you!”

Silence. Long, uncomfortable silence. The sun was beginning to rise.

Just then they could hear music playing in the living room outside the bedroom door. Cecilia chuckled after realizing what was playing. _Us and Them by Pink Floyd_. “You actually liked the playlist I made you? That wasn’t an act?”

“Cecilia…I fucking love it.”

Cecilia’s wide eyes gazed into this man’s eyes, afraid for once in her life. She began trembling and soon tears started falling down her face. “Why did you have to go and ruin everything?!” she cried out. “You were nearly god damn perfect!” Jim remained silent as she sobbed. “If you weren’t who you were…I could’ve loved you back!” He flinched at her words. "Why would you tell me this?!” she screamed. “Why tell me when it's absolutely pointless?"

He tightened the grip he had on her shoulders. "Because I've never felt this way! For the first time in my life I'm feeling something different and I don't know what to do!" Then Jim moved his hands to the side of her face and continued with a soft voice, "When I'm with you...I forget about all the other shit in the world. Everything becomes meaningless." Jim drew in a breath. “I wish…I wish we never knew who each other was. Things could’ve been a lot different.”

She gave him a tearful smile. “I really did fall for you. I truly did.” Cecilia gently placed her hand on the side of his face and looked into his eyes. Her gaze was filled with empathy. It made him feel vulnerable; transparent. "You have an incredible mind, no doubt about it. You’ve beaten Sherlock. I never imagined that was possible. I thought there was no one in the world who could. But what will you have when he's gone?" Jim bore his eyes into hers, doing his best not to tremble from her intensity. "So, stop this. Leave him alone...if it's loyalty you want, it's loyalty I will give you."

Jim Moriarty felt as if he became completely unraveled. He couldn’t handle it anymore. His lips crashed onto hers with such desperation it awakened her craving for him as well. Jim grabbed her hips and she wrapped her legs around him. Cecilia moaned as he sucked on her neck. The sound of her voice only made him more aroused. He threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her wanton body. She’s deadly in the aspect of his emotional being.

_If you say yes to her, Jim…If you let yourself become enveloped by her…_

_You will be Icarus and she will be the Sun._

Jim closed his eyes tightly and sighed. After opening his eyes again, he brushed strands of hair away from her face so he could look into those beautiful eyes. "Cecilia Clark…” he said softly. “I love you.” He meant it. Jim searched her eyes to see if she accepted them as truth. She replied with an embarrassed smile, but grateful to hear the words for the first time. “Which is why, I’m sorry.” Cecilia’s eyes widened at the prick of a needle. Tears pooled in his eyes as he continued injecting the sedative into her arm. He watched as a tear ran down her cheek before she went completely limp. When her frightened and pleading eyes finally closed, Jim immediately screamed of heartache into her chest. It took a moment for him to pull himself together. He inhaled and stood to fix his tie. A guard came into the room waiting for instructions. "Watch her. You will not move her from this room until it's time."

"Yes, Mr. Moriarty."

Jim took a few steps towards the door then turned around to glance at Cecilia one last time.

He proceeded to walk out of his suite then step into the empty elevator. Once the doors closed, his determined face fell. Jim stared down at the floor reflecting on what she asked him. What if they could have been happy? No, Sherlock would always be there. Always in the back of her mind. Always thinking about his safety. She'd never be happy. What if she couldn’t live with herself if Sherlock died? No. Mycroft would never allow it. I've arranged for her to be sent to his home once it's over. Should he call this whole thing off? Should he let Sherlock win this time? He had his chance to have her and he blew it. He would never get this chance again. No...he made his decision and it was final. 

"Damn it." he whispered. "Damn it!" he screamed, punching the mirror inside the elevator. It cracked instantly upon impact. There wasn't going back. 


	11. "Death at One's Elbow"

Daylight had arrived. Jim stood on the rooftop of Bart's Hospital and watched on as John Watson entered a cab below him. _It's ShowTime._ Jim opened his music app on his mobile and scrolled through his songs. He paused at the playlist Cecilia made for him. The memory of her reminded him of the pain in his heart and his leg. He didn’t want to think of her at the moment. With a sigh, he scrolled passed the playlist and settled on his personal favorite, _Stayin' Alive_.

It wasn't long before Sherlock opened the door to the roof. "Ah. Here we are at last." Jim said aloud to Sherlock. "You and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem." He held the phone up higher. "Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?" Angrily, he switched off the phone. "It’s just..." Jim held his hand out with the palm down while skimming it slowly in front of him. "...Staying." Sherlock paced around the roof while he continued, "All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you." Sherlock’s head turned sharply towards him as he continued to pace. "And you know what? In the end it was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them." he said with disappointment. Jim rubbed his hand over his face then sang, "Ah, well!" He decided to stand up and pace around the detective.

Sherlock noticed a slight limp in Jim's walking gait. "What happened?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Ah, you can thank Cecilia for that." he said with a smirk.

Sherlock immediately turned to face him. "Perhaps I will. Where is she?"

"Don't worry. She's having a little lie down. Wouldn’t want any of your friends getting in the way of our game." Jim continued to circle around him. "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook."

"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."

"Of course."

"Attaboy."

"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name."

In a fake American accent, Jim replied, "Just tryin’ to have some fun." He looked down to Sherlock’s hands and saw that him tapping out a rhythm with his fingers. "Good. You got that too."

"Beats like digits." Sherlock told him. "Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

"Yes, but now that it’s up here," Sherlock said with a tap to his head. "I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty." Jim gazed at him for a moment, then turned away with a discouraged expression. "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. This is too easy." he whined as he buried his face in his hands. "There is no key, DOOFUS!" He screamed the last word into Sherlock’s dumbfounded face. "Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless. You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed." Jim held his hands out in front of him and gazed at him pitifully. "I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock." 

"But the rhythm-"

“Partita number one. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach."

"But then how did-"

"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?" he interrupted impatiently. "Daylight robbery! All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you’d fall for it." Sherlock stared blankly into the distance. "That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."

"Do it?" Sherlock repeated. "Do – do what?" He pondered until he pieced together Jim's game. "Yes, of course. My suicide."

“Genius detective proved to be a fraud. I read it in the paper, so it must be true." Sherlock walked to the edge of the roof and looked over the side to the ground below. Jim joined him at his side to look over the ledge as well. He turned his head to stare ominously at Sherlock. "She tried to save you, you know. Cecilia." his sentence seemed to confuse Sherlock. "She practically offered herself to me so I would keep you alive. It was annoying."

Sherlock nodded, understanding what he meant. "Ah, so she accepted your offer of recruitment in order to spare my life."

"Admirable, isn’t it? Her loyalty. It's almost shameful.” Jim paused for a moment to glare at Sherlock with scrutiny. “Your brother didn’t just send Cecilia away for an assignment. She asked for it…didn’t she? What was the reason?” He began walking around Sherlock as he speculated aloud. “She wouldn’t just leave her best friend in the whole wide world for two years unless there was a reason.” Jim stopped in front him, waiting for an answer.

Sherlock almost stumbled on his words. “She left…because I told her to."

Jim was now irritated by this. He paced around Sherlock with a laugh before throwing a punch at Sherlock's chin. Sherlock stumbled back in a daze then wiped his hand over his mouth to check for bleeding. Jim took a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and wiped Sherlock's blood off his knuckles. "I don't like getting my hands dirty, Sherlock..." he said in disgust. "But I'll make an exception. This will be the last time I play with you anyway."

Sherlock grinned at his own blood on his fingertips and replied, "Are you defending her honor? That's a bit out of character for you, don't you think?"

"I like to remain unpredictable." He replied as he shoved the handkerchief into his pocket. “Now go on. Do yourself a favor and jump.”

“I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.”

“Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.” Jim said wearily. “Go on. For me.” Then he made his voice into a high-pitched squeal. “Pleeeeeease?”

In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabbed him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spun him around so that Jim’s back was at the drop.

“You’re insane.” Sherlock said, nearly out of breath.

Jim blinked at him. “You’re just getting that now?” Sherlock shoved him further back, now holding him over the edge. The motion that was supposed to intimidate Jim failed as he flailed his arms in mocked fear. “Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive…” Then he added grimly, “Your friends will die if you don’t.” Fear crept into Sherlock’s eyes. “Three bullets…Three gunmen. There’s no stopping them now.” Furiously, Sherlock pulled Jim back upwards to safety. Satisfied, Jim adjusted his coat and stared into Sherlock’s eyes. “Unless my people see you jump."

“John.”

“Not just John. Everyone.” Jim replied with a whisper. 

“You’d shoot Cecilia?”

"No, but she will die. Yes." Jim answered simply. "The Cecilia Clark you know...will die. You and Mycroft are the only things that keep her on the side of angels. With you gone and me in the picture, who knows what kind of potential she’ll unlock." Sherlock gazed past him, breathing heavily, and lost in horror. “You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only friends will die ... unless ...

“...unless I kill myself – complete your story.”

Jim nodded and smiled ecstatically. “You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier.”

“And I die in disgrace.”

“Of course. That’s the point of this.” Sherlock stepped onto the ledge and glanced at the sidewalk below. “Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the killers. I’m certainly not gonna do it. Don't you worry, I'll take care of Cee. I'll be the shoulder for her to cry on. She'll cry and cry-"

"But she'll hate you." Sherlock said with a shaky breath.

Jim smiled amicably. "For a while. But soon she'll forget about you. So; off you go."

_I thought you could never belong to anyone. Never care for anyone."_

_"Oh, yes, the cold businessman behind his marble desk, way up in his executive suite. No emotions, just ice water in his veins and ticker tape coming from his heart. And yet... one day that same cold businessman, high up in a skyscraper, opens a window, steps out on a ledge... stands there for three hours wondering... if he should jump."_

Cecilia's eyes fluttered open. In her disoriented state, she squinted at the blurry figure driving the SUV she found herself in. One of Moriarty's henchmen. Quickly but stealthily, she pried her hands out of the zip ties that bound her wrists. Just as the driver saw her breakout, Cecilia opened the passenger door handle and threw herself onto the sidewalk. Her body quickly met the hard pavement and she rolled down, frightening a few passerbys in the process. With her energy renewed and adrenaline rushing through her body, she stumbled to her feet and ran towards Bart’s.

Slowly a smile spread across Sherlock’s face and he started to chuckle. Behind him, Jim was slowly walking away across the roof but he stopped after hearing Sherlock’s delightful giggles.

“What?” Jim asked angrily, clearly not getting the joke. “What is it? What did I miss?” 

Sherlock did a little hop off the ledge and back onto the roof. “ _You’re_ not going to do it? So the killers can be called off then.” He began to circle around Jim. “There’s a recall code or a word or a number. My friends don't have to die, you don't get to turn Cecilia into a monster…I don’t have to die…” Then with a sing-song voice, he added, “If I’ve got you.”

“Oh!” Jim laughed with relief. “You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?”

“Yes,” he replied while still circling him. “So do you.”

Almost disappointingly Jim told him, “Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.”

Sherlock stopped circling to come close to his face. “Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.”

Jim stared at him while processing Sherlock’s words. “So answer this for me, and I want you to answer truthfully.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, taken aback by his no-nonsense tone. “Why did you tell Cecilia to leave? What was the reason?” asked Jim with a deadpanned expression.

“It was hard to work around her.” Sherlock was beginning to feel uncomfortable telling him all of this. It’s been years since he even spoke about it.

“After nearly three decades of being together?” Jim was getting confused now. “No, no…something had to have changed. You’re leaving out a big part of the story.” Then he grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and shook him a bit. “I’m the storyteller Sherlock! You must give me something to work with!” Jim searched his eyes for answers.   
“Think Sherlock.

**THINK**!”


	12. "I Won't Share You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock remembers the night that made him push Cecilia away.

**London  
** **2009**

**_Northumberland Flats. 10pm. Don't blow your cover._**

Sherlock read from his phone. "She really takes me for an idiot, doesn't she?" he muttered to himself. He sat in the back of one of Mycroft's town cars and stared into a small pocket mirror. His usual curls were now slicked back and he was dressed in an impeccable Westwood suit. He looked at the driver through the rear-view mirror. "Tell my brother, thank you. And by thank you, I mean piss off." He climbed out of the car and made his way towards the flat building. A pretty redhead sat at the front desk and greeted him. "Hello gorgeous, I'm looking for a Mr. Beckett." The woman's smile immediately disappeared.

"A-a Mr. Beckett? Sorry. There is no one here by that name." she stuttered.

"My patience is wearing thin, girl." He said with narrowed eyes. "Stop wasting my time and bring me to your...employer. I'm here on behalf of my uncle, Charles Clifton." The woman immediately began dialing on lobby telephone.

"I apologize Mr. Clifton." She said in a hurry. Proud of himself, a wide grin stretched across his face. He saw something in his peripheral vision and looked up at the corner of the lobby. He knew a security camera was zooming in on him. "Er-Mr. Clifton?" The woman pulled him out of his thoughts. "I will now lead you to Mr. Beckett."

"Fantastic." He replied with a smile and followed her to the elevator. They arrived at the tenth floor, the top floor. 

"Follow me, please." The redhead said politely before walking into the hallway. What he and Cecilia expected was true. This flat building is just a front for an illegal brothel. Barely dressed women walked by and entered a room. Sherlock caught glimpses of the men who requested the women. Businessman, foreigner, most likely first time here judging by how unsure he looked. The next room he noticed housed a politician. _Ah, so this is the VIP level_. The redhead brought him to a penthouse suite. This was obviously Beckett's room. "Please make yourself at home while I make him known of your arrival." Sherlock simply nodded and chose to sit on the comfortable sectional wide enough to seat nearly twenty people. He frowned at the thought of how many orgies possibly occurred where he sat. 

A well-dressed man, approximately in his late thirties walked out of his office with a business-like air. "Jack Beckett." he introduced himself, holding out his hand for a handshake. Sherlock stood and grasped his hand. "I didn't know the old man had a nephew." he said added before letting go of his hand.

"Uncle thought it was best to keep in secret who would be taking over his company after his death." 

Jack nodded. "Smart man he is. Were you offered anything to drink, Mr. Clifton?" 

"No. And please call me, Will." Sherlock answered politely.

Jack turned to the redhead from earlier. "Call Bernadette in here, will you?" With a nod, she left the room. "So," he began as the two men sat down. "What brings you to my pleasurable establishment?" 

"I am just looking into my uncle's investments." Sherlock replied. "What I am really concerned about is-"

"Ah, Bernadette!" Jack exclaimed once the raven-haired woman walked in. She was carrying a tray of bourbon and glasses, wearing black lace bralette and garter belt attached to her knee length stockings. Sherlock began deducing her starting from the bottom up as she set the tray down. _Toned legs, she's athletic or works out on a daily basis. Compared to the other prostitutes she's wearing expensive lingerie, she's most likely a favorite_. Once she stood straight up and able for him to deduce her face, he froze.

He saw Cecilia's red lips curl into a sly grin.

"Have you brought me a toy, James?" she purred. Mr. Beckett grinned.

"No, my dear. Important man, this one is." he answered. She began tracing Jack’s shoulders with a leather riding crop as she walked around him. Jack noticed Sherlock staring at her almost in shock. "Bernadette is our new Dominatrix. She quickly became a favorite to our clients." 

"...I see why they would think that." Sherlock replied as he watched her pour the bourbon. "Anyways, I was hoping to discuss my uncle's supply." 

Jack took a glass from Cecilia and took a sip of his drink. "Ah, of course. Well-" Suddenly his mobile began ringing from his office. "One moment, Will." Before leaving the room, Jack turned to Cecilia. "Bernadette, please keep Mr. Clifton company." Her eyes lowered at Sherlock seductively and walked towards him.

"My pleasure." she replied before sitting on top of his lap. Sherlock became frozen once more. He wasn't sure how to feel. A woman has never done this to him, and he wasn't expecting her to do this ever in his life. Cecilia began undoing his tie and said to him, "Mr. Clifton, you seem awfully uncomfortable in this suit." She looked out of the corner of her eye and watched as James closed his office door behind him. "You bloody idiot." she whispered before snapping the riding crop against his arm.

“Ow!”

"You can't just freeze up like that. You're supposed to be used to seeing women like this." Sherlock glared at her.

"Yeah, women. Not you!" he whispered back. "What in the bloody hell are you doing dressed like this?"

"I'm undercover obviously. There was no other way." 

"You could have given me a fair warn-"

"I didn't have time." She sighed. "Just keep playing along. Once we have proof of that weapons cache, I’ll give the signal to Lestrade then we can hand this over to the Yard." She glanced at the office door to make sure Jack was still out of sight. “There’s a vault inside that room. No doubt the cache is in there.”

“What kind of security is he using?”

“Erm, a numeric keycode.” Cecilia closed her eyes to think. “Eight digits, I believe.”

Sherlock nodded. “A birth date perhaps.” Suddenly, they could hear Jack’s footsteps coming towards the door. 

"Alright Mr. Clifton, you can-" Mr. Beckett paused at the sight of two kissing intensely. Smirking he added, "Ah, even you can't resist our Bernadette. Eh, Will?" The two broke away and Sherlock immediately stood in a panic to fix his tie. 

"Sorry Love, maybe next time." Sherlock said flatly. Cecilia frowned.

"You businessmen and your meetings." she said with disappointment. 

_Thank god I'm away from her. I can't handle her this way._

Jack grinned as Sherlock walked into his office. "We won't be long." he replied before shutting the doors. He led Sherlock to a door with a keypad. "The weapons room is here. The access code is your uncle's birthday." After noticing Sherlock’s hesitation, he added, "Surely, you would know that." After a moment Sherlock's hand went to the keypad and slowly entered, 10271940. With a click, the door opened automatically to reveal a room filled with hundreds of automatic assault rifles, rocket launchers, and machine guns. As Sherlock walked around the room, Jack told him, "We start our first shipment next month."

"Who's the buyer?" Sherlock asked. Jack put his hands in his pockets and smiled.

"Anonymous. I don't like to get too involved in that sort of thing. As long as the money comes in, I don't care who or why." Sherlock just nodded. "How's Charles' cancer going?"

With a shrug, he replied, "Still undergoing chemo. Poor sod just won't give up."

"Right." Jack slowly took a handgun off the wall then pointed it at him. "Funny, isn't it? How his nephew doesn't even know he's dying from heart disease." Sherlock tutted.

"Damn." he said with a sigh. "I really should research more carefully."

"Who are you? Police?" Jack asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Please don't associate me with those idiots at Scotland Yard."

"Then what? Mi6?" Sherlock choked on a laugh.

"Even more despicable than the other lot."

"I take offense to that." said Cecilia, who stood behind the men. With a quickness she used her leather riding crop to whip Jack Beckett’s hand. The pain caused him to drop the weapon he was holding onto the floor. Cecilia immediately swiped it off the ground and aimed it at the man just as he moved to arm himself again. "Don’t even think about it." She warned. Before he could react, police officers soon began filing into the office. 

"Drop your weapon!" a few officers yelled at her. 

"Fuck..." Cecilia muttered as she dropped her pistol. 

"Cuff Mr. Beckett." demanded Detective Inspector Lestrade once he walked into the room. He went behind Cecilia and brought her hands to her back. "And we'll bring you in for questioning." Lestrade glanced over at Sherlock and added, "Well done, Holmes. Good thing Cee called us over. Where is she anyway?"

"Right here, Inspector." she said smirking. 

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, immediately unhanding her. "Why on earth are you dressed like that?"

"This is my part time job." she said sarcastically as she crossed her arms.

"Well...nice job you two." Lestrade said before eyeing Cecilia up and down. "That does look nice on you though." 

"Get this disgusting image of me out of your mind, Greg. I won't be a reason for you to have a wank tonight." She said boringly.

Lestrade became red. "I'm not going to-"

"Oh, of course you two would be here." said an annoyed Sally Donovan once she walked into the room. Then she turned to Cecilia. "Nice outfit you have there. A bit tacky even for your taste, don't you think?"

Cecilia smiled. "Thanks. Got it from your mum's closet." Donovan glared at her before turning away.

"Mission accomplished Inspector." said Sherlock. "It's time for me to take my leave. It's beginning to get boring again." 

"Is Myc's car still outside?" Cecilia asked. 

"Most likely."

"I'll join you." 

As they walked away, Donovan and Lestrade watched them leave. "You think they're seeing each other?" Donovan asked him. Lestrade nearly choked on a laugh.

"Sherlock Holmes? I don’t even think that man has the capacity to fancy anyone to be honest."

"Put this on." Sherlock said, holding out his coat as they walked towards the car. A few policemen on their way to the scene, began eyeing Cecilia down.

"I'm not cold." She replied, oblivious to the men.

"I said put on the coat!" he angrily growled, before tossing the coat onto her as if she was an empty armchair.

Cecilia scoffed. "Prick." She muttered as she slid her arms through the sleeves. The two climbed into the backseat of Mycroft’s town car and shut the door.

"My flat, please." Sherlock said to the driver. "No bother telling you the address. I'm sure my brother has already told you."

"Sorry for my friend, Francis." Cecilia said to the driver. "At least I am grateful for your services."

"I had no need for the suit and car. Just trying to look the part of a wealthy businessman."

"You have the attitude of one too." She muttered.

* * *

"Montague Street." Francis announced as he pulled up to his flat. About half a mile up the street was backed up in traffic. "Must be a lorrie accident."

"You can take Sussex Gardens?" Cecilia suggested. Francis checked his mobile's satnav for the traffic. 

"Not looking good there either. Nearly an hour wait."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she muttered. "I'll take the bloody tube then." Francis raised an eyebrow at her through the rear-view mirror. 

"Looking like that?" Sherlock said referring to her risqué outfit. Cecilia rolled her eyes. Sherlock opened the car door and gestured for her to exit. "Just stay here for the night." Francis glared at him suspiciously. "Don't look at me like that!" he said to the driver.

"Whatever." she turned to Francis. "Drive safely, mate." 

"Call me if he tries to pull any fast ones."

"This is Sherlock Holmes. He wouldn't know what to do with a woman even if she was sitting on his face." Francis looked around to see if anyone else heard her vulgar statement before driving off. 

"That was...obscene, even for you Cee." he said as he opened the door to the building.

"Where's your toothpaste? Do you even brush your teeth?" She called from the bathroom.

"Stop using my toothbrush every time you come over! It's unsanitary." He groaned before typing away on his laptop.

"Yeah? Look at your sink and remind me what's sanitary." Sherlock looked over at his kitchen sink and realized how high the stack of dishes became. He usually tested the limits of Cecilia’s patience when it comes to his dishware. She would have done it herself by now. Cecilia opened the bathroom door and walked into the living room wearing his pyjama bottoms and one of his t-shirts. Sherlock noticed this and gazed at her. She was no longer wearing makeup and her hair was now in a messy ponytail. His pyjama bottoms were a bit too long on her and so was his shirt. She looked comfortable and relaxed as she flopped onto the sofa. A rare sight. He preferred her this way.

"You okay, Sherly?"

"Oh. Yes." He looked away from her then went back to his website. "Just thankful you finally have some clothes on." 

Cecilia laughed. "That corset was just god awful. I could barely breathe in it."

"...Right." He said slowly, trying to rid the memory of her costume from his mind. _Delete it._

Sherlock paused on his blog post to scratch his head. Something was eating at him and he could not figure out what it was. He reclined back in his chair and sighed with exasperation. "Cee, do you know-" Sherlock peaked over a Cecilia and saw she was asleep. Her breathing was heavy, and he watched her chest rise and drop slowly. His eyes laid on her lips; pouted and slightly open. He remembered. He remembered her breath hitching when he ran his hands up the sides of her stomach. He remembered her combing her fingers through his hair. He remembered her biting his lip at some point. The five seconds in Beckett's flat that felt like five minutes. Sherlock ran his thumb across his bottom lip subconsciously before going back to his laptop.

* * *

“And after that…it was different.” Sherlock told Jim. He thought back to the times they worked together after that night and how it was difficult to look at her. “She was a distraction and I became slow in my work.” He became distracted by her presence whenever she joined him at a crime scene. Even her absence was distracting. She would be called by Mycroft for a last-minute assignment, leaving him there to pick up her slack. He would always be waiting and wondering what could possibly be more important than him. And when she went on these little dates with insignificant men, he had to waste his time shooing them away from her instead of working on cases. “So I did what I had to do and--”

“Pushed her away.” Jim finished, eyes full of disbelief.

“Right.”

Jim stared at him. He couldn’t believe it. At first, he was in awe then realization hit him. He smiled and said softly, “I see. You’re me.” _Sherlock loves her too?!_

Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together. "What are you talking about?"

"It's no fun giving you all the answers, now is it?" Jim countered derisively. _He loves her. That changes everything…_ “You’re ME!” he shrieked. “Thank you!” Jim shook Sherlock’s hand and lowered his gaze. “As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out. There’s no way I can beat him now. "Well, good luck with that."

In rapid succession Jim raised his eyes to Sherlock’s, grinned insanely, opened his mouth wide while he reached into his waistband with his other hand and pulled out a pistol, raising it towards his own mouth. Sherlock instinctively pulled back, alarmed. Jim inserted the muzzle into his own mouth and pulled the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly. Sherlock stared in horror as blood began to trickle away from Jim’s head.

John was in a taxicab dialing Cecilia’s number. The call immediately went to voicemail. ‘ _This is C. Don't leave a message_.’ John rolled his eyes before hearing the beep. “Cee, it’s John. I’ve been calling you all night. Meet me at Bart’s.” After the cab pulled up to the kerb, John stepped out to walk towards the hospital. His phone began to ring, and he sighed in relief. “Cee, thank god-“

“John.” He heard Sherlock’s voice say.

“Hey, Sherlock, you okay?”

“Turn around and walk back the way you came now.”

“No, I’m coming in.”

“Just do as I ask. Please.” Sherlock implored. Doing as he was told, John walked back along the road. “Stop there.” He waited for John to stop before adding, “Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.”

John turned towards the hospital then looked up at the rooftop. “Oh God.”

Nervously, Sherlock said, “I… I ...I can’t come down, so we’ll...we’ll just have to do it like this.”

John was getting anxious. “What’s going on?”

“An apology.” Sherlock replied. “It’s all true. Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.” He took a brief glance at Moriarty’s grinning corpse behind him as John stared up at Sherlock in disbelief.  
  
“Why are you saying this?”

Sherlock looked down at his friend and got tearful. “I’m a fake. The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly… In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”  
  
John shook his head, confused. “Cecilia's known you her whole life. She could vouch for you.”

“She was in on it. I had her play along this whole time.”

“Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up.” John ordered, getting frustrated. “The first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.”

Sherlock laughed and gazed down at him as he let a tear fall down his chin.

Meanwhile, Cecilia stopped sprinting to catch her breath. In a few more blocks, she would be at her destination. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket and tapped on Sherlock’s name. Panting, she listened to it ring. After only hearing a busy tone at the end of the line, Cecilia groaned in exasperation and continued her run towards the hospital.

"Please...take care of her."

“No. SHERLOCK!” John screamed in utter panic as Sherlock fell forward, plummeting towards the ground. A crowd began to circle around the body as he stumbled towards it. “Sherlock, Sherlock…” he whispered. “I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.” Some members of the crowd tried to hold him back, but he pushed through. “No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.” As he reached down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, medics arrived with a wheeled stretcher. John groaned in despair as he watched Sherlock’s bloodied body loll onto the stretcher. The medics quickly rolled the stretcher towards the hospital entrance and he stared after it, his face uncomprehending. He finally managed to get to his feet once Sherlock’s body was out of view. Then John spun around and saw Cecilia standing close by. Her eyes were wide, her skin was white. She looked like a ghost glued on the spot. _How long has she been standing there? How much did she see?_

"Cee-" John breathed out as he reached for her. Soon he was standing in front of her, gazing into her eyes. John held onto her shoulders and shook her lightly before pulling her into her an embrace. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear. Her senses seemed to have vanished. Reality faded away and visions of her disturbing childhood played repeatedly in her head.  
  


_"CHARLOTTE!" A six-year-old Cecilia heard her father scream as she stood in front of the bathroom door. She stared in horror at the site of her dead mother laying in the bathtub filled with blood. The sound of steel clattering echoed in the room once her father kicked the kitchen knife on the floor aside. He wailed and wailed her mother’s name in agony as he rocked Charlotte’s limp body in his arm. Cecilia felt tears roll down her cheek, but she couldn’t move._

“CEE!” John yelled at her. Police sirens blared. Red and blue lights flashed against Bart’s walls. She knew John was trying to move her, but she just stared at Sherlock’s blood on the pavement. John frantically looked over at Detective Inspector Lestrade, who just arrived on scene. Everything appeared as if it was all moving so slowly. Greg held the sides of her face and looked into her eyes. Her eyes were blank...empty. He was telling her something that was supposed to be comforting, but all the words were muffled to her. She felt like she was drowning and slowly sinking further and further into the darkness.

Mycroft thanked Greg for bringing Cecilia back to his home. After he left, Mycroft assisted her to her bedroom. She didn’t speak. She didn’t want to eat. She only wanted to lay in her bed. She just wanted to be how she felt.

**Alone.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter we'll see Cecilia's backstory.


	13. "Asleep"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Drug Use/Suicide
> 
> Cecilia's childhood and what made her into the person she is today.

**1986.**

A six-year-old Cecilia gazed emotionlessly at the view of the English countryside from the car window. "It's nice here. Isn’t it, Cee?" her father asked as he drove. "A lot different from the city."

They arrived at what was supposed to be a ‘homey’, stone cottage. Shortly after he parked, Mr. Clark walked around the car and opened the boot. They packed only the essentials. Their old furniture and other belongings reminded them too much of Charlotte. Cecilia remained in the car, glaring at the blue sky and the chirping birds. She thought her father as a coward trying to hide his misery. She was young, but Cecilia knew he was putting on an act. His smiles were a sham and she couldn’t stand it. She didn’t like being lied to. "Would you like some help, sir?" a young teenager asked. This sudden, new voice made her curious. So she rolled her window down to eavesdrop.

"Please!" Mr. Clark exclaimed, excited to see a friendly face.

"I'm Mycroft Holmes." introduced the boy. "My family and I live right next to you." He sounded very mature and well-mannered for his age. Cecilia rolled her eyes. Posh boys annoyed her. As he helped her father bring a box inside their new home, Cecilia turned her bored stare towards the larger cottage next door. She could see a young boy her age wearing an eye patch, staring at her curiously. "That's Sherlock." Mycroft's sudden appearance brought Cecilia out of her thoughts. She eyed him over before bringing her attention back to his brother.

"Is he blind in that eye?" she asked the older boy. Mycroft smirked as he joined her in staring down young Sherlock.

"Not at all. Just stupid."

"Tell Captain Weirdo to stop looking at me." she muttered, making Mycroft chuckle.

"You're a bit cheeky for your age, aren't you?" he asked, amused.

Flatly she replied, "And you're fat for yours." Mycroft's grin wiped clean off his face.

"Cee!" Mr. Clark exclaimed crossly. Cecilia rolled her eyes, put on her headphones, and listened to her Walkman to avoid further confrontation.

* * *

"There’s that weird girl again." a boy whispered.

"Oi! Cecilia!"

She kept walking until one them tugged on her bag strap. "Leave me alone loser." she said, looking in the opposite direction.

The boy became offended and retorted back with, "I'm a loser? At least my mummy's still alive." Her silence made the boys giggle. They finally broke her. Cecilia clenched her fist and whipped around to punch the kid straight in the nose. When he flew backwards onto the ground, she jumped on top of him and continued her assault. "Help!" the boy cried. Soon the three other kids attacked her to rescue their friend. After seeing she couldn't fend off the others, Sherlock ran up to them and joined the brawl. It became two against three.

The six found themselves in detention writing lines. Sherlock and Cecilia were at the opposite side of the room her bullies were.

"Sherlock's just as mad."

"They're both weird."

Cecilia smirked at their comments before looking at her partner in crime. "Why'd you help me?" she whispered.

Sherlock shrugged. "They're stupid. I hate stupid people." It went silent between them.

As she continued writing she said, "You're crazy, Captain Weirdo." her insult made him want to shoot a glare at her. But when he looked at Cecilia, he noticed her smile for the first time. "But you were cool..." she grinned and added, "You're cool, Sherlock..."

* * *

**1989**

Sherlock walked into the Clarks’ home as they were eating breakfast. Nine-year-old Cecilia was in the process of field stripping a Glock while her father, newly promoted Detective Inspector, looked over a few case files. “Done!” she exclaimed, prompting Fredrick to stop the stopwatch.

“Five seconds.” Fredrick told her. Cecilia groaned as a response.

“How am I getting slower?” she whined.

“Now put it back together and conduct functions check.” Her father glanced at her plate then went back to his files. “And finish the damn eggs.”

As she reassembled the weapon, she muttered, “Too much pepper.”

“Again?”

Sherlock cleared his throat as he walked into the dining area. “Morning.”

“Ah, Sherlock!” Fredrick exclaimed as Sherlock pulled open a chair. “Just in time. Three new cases this week.” He spread out the files for Sherlock to view before digging into his briefcase. Sherlock skimmed through the first two files, but the last one he found interesting. 11-year-old swimming prodigy drowned. Sherlock scanned the documents with his eyes quickly. Why didn’t he have his shoes? Before he could read any more, Fredrick placed a thicker file on top of the one he was reading. “Hugh Carrows.” Fredrick told him as he tapped the grainy photograph. “We found our mysterious serial killer. He’s a clever little bugger, but we finally found him.”

“That’s brilliant, Detective Inspector.” 

Mr. Clark glanced back at Sherlock confused. "You really don't have to call me that. I told you to call me Freddie."

"I'd rather not." Mr. Clark frowned before Sherlock asked, "Can you bring me to a crime scene?"

"That is out of the question." Fredrick replied. “Your mother will have my head. I shouldn't even be showing you these.”

Cecilia glanced at the stopwatch then hopped out of her chair. “Dad. It’s time to go.” As the three of them prepared to leave for school, her father looked down at Cecilia and smiled. 

"Once I close this case, I'll take a vacation alright Cee? Just you and me. We'll go to the beach." After not seeing a change in her personality, he sighed and hesitantly suggested, "...How about I give you more shooting lessons?"

"You mean it?!" she exclaimed happily. Mr. Clark laughed, and Sherlock slightly smiled.

"We'll talk more about it tomorrow. I’ll be working late tonight."

* * *

"As you know Mr and Mrs. Holmes, the agreement in which you and Fredrick Clark drafted three years ago...you will take guardianship over Cecilia in the event of his death..." Sherlock watched as his mother sobbed as the social worker continued talking. His father rubbed Mrs. Holmes' back in hopes it would console her. Sherlock turned away from the sitting room and stepped outside to the backyard. He saw Cecilia on the tree swing looking down at her feet. She lifted her head to see Sherlock walking towards her. Quickly, she rubbed the tears away from her face and sniffed up snot that was about to run out of her nose.

"I can hear your mum crying all the way out here." Then with a smirk she added, "She’s probably wants to take back that promise they made with dad."

Sherlock sat on the grass beside her and began picking at the dandelions. "You know that's not true. She's pretty much your other mum anyway."

"I know. I'm just joking."

"Are you okay?"

Cecilia groaned. "I'm fine. I wish people would stop asking me that. I'm strong."

"I know. But you don't have to be...all the time." Sherlock picked a dandelion out of the ground and held the white, fluffy weed out towards her. "Here. Make a wish." Cecilia rolled her eyes and nonchalantly took it out of his hand. She gazed at the seed heads momentarily before closing her eyes and blowing them away. She smiled as they watched the white particles float in the gentle breeze. "I'm gonna tell you my wish." she said.

"It won't come true then."

Cecilia groaned and threw the stem at Sherlock. "Yes, it will." With a smile she added, "Because I wished we'll be friends until the very end."

* * *

**1998.** **University of Cambridge.**

"I hear people talking about you all over campus."

"Mhm."

"They say you're good. You can tell everyone's whole life story."

"Mmhmm..."

The girl who was talking to Sherlock stood clutching on her messenger bag while looking nervously around her in the library. She looked down at Sherlock who was sitting at a table scribbling on his notepad, paying no mind to her. Feeling impatient, she pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. Sherlock sighed, unnerved by this unwanted company. "Look," she said with a whisper. "My boyfriend, Paul, I think he's...I think he's up to no good. He's been sneaking around-"

"Possibly cheating on you." Sherlock interjected flatly.

"No. Worse than that." His head shot up.

"Worse?" He was intrigued now.

"I think he's getting into trouble with the law. Something illegal. I want you to follow him and see what he's up to." Sherlock was tempted, but he shook his head and went back to his notes.

"I have studying to do."

"Geniuses like you don't need to study. You already know you'll pass your exams." Sherlock grinned at himself. He was never impartial to a good compliment.

"Fine..." he said, closing his textbook. "Tell me more."

Sherlock followed Paul towards a pub in the Arbury area. After waiting a few moments, Sherlock went inside after him. From the other side of the crowded facility, he was able to spot the redheaded man stand in front of an occupied corner booth in the far right. Sherlock sat at table where he was in his line of sight. Paul seemed nervous as he stood in silent before the group of men who were seated there. The men were huddled in discussion, almost as if to debate on Paul’s fate. After a moment, their leader gestured to the storage room door beside their booth. One of them stepped out of the booth, grabbed Paul by the shoulder and knocked on the door. The door was then opened from the inside and both men stepped in. The group that remained chuckled after the door slammed shut.

Not even ten minutes later, the door finally opened. Paul walked back into the pub, this time with an unrecognizable face. Sherlock watched in shock as Cecilia stepped out of the storage room wiping what appeared to be Paul’s blood off her knuckles. Her white wife-beater was covered in grime and blood. As she leaned against the doorway, one of the men at the booth handed her a glass of vodka as a thank you. Cecilia muttered something to them in Ukrainian, making them holler in laughter. What the hell is going on?

At the end of the night, Sherlock waited in an alley to be shielded by darkness. His focus was on Cecilia who was waiting outside the pub for someone. As she waited, she brought out a joint and balanced it between her lips to light. Cecilia inhaled deeply, allowing the cannabis to fully envelop in her lungs. A man soon exited the pub and looked around to make sure they were alone before dropping a paper bag in her hand. She gave the bag a quick peek then muttered something in Ukrainian. The man thanked her and walked back inside the pub.   
  
"I thought you gave smoking up." Said Sherlock as he crept out of the shadows. "Marijuana is still illegal if you haven't already forgot."

"I haven't." she replied flatly. "And it's mild to the trash you've been filling your veins with." Cecilia glared at the dark shadow until Sherlock finally walked under the streetlight. He put his hands into his trouser pockets and sighed.

"What are you doing, Clark?"

Cecilia took a drag of her joint and said snidely, "Wasting my time talking to you apparently."

Sherlock sighed as he approached her. "Working for the mobs now?"

"What are you going to do? Tell Mummy on me? Or even worse, Mycroft?" she turned to frown ruefully at him. "Are you going to stop me now?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You're in dangerous territory, Cee-"

"You don't get to call me 'Cee' anymore!" she yelled angrily. "You lost your right to care or judge or whatever after you abandoned me! For what? Coke? Heroin? Both?!" Cecilia chuckled humourlessly and pointed threateningly at him. "You know what...Forget it. We’re done here. This is the last time you see me." With that said, she walked off, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

* * *

She phoned Mycroft’s flat twice that night. “He’s always busy.” She thought. “He’ll be fine.” Cecilia smiled, but the expression did not match her eyes. Should she write a note? Who would read it? Perhaps the landlord when they realize she hasn’t paid rent. She wondered what was wrong with her. Her life had been a mess from the start. Did she even belong in this world? Why didn’t she feel like she had a place or purpose? She questioned if her mother felt any pain the day she died. She couldn’t have right? She was paralyzed from the waist down. If there was a heaven, would she even go there? I _s mum and dad...happy now?_ She imagined her parents dancing on a cloud; her mom resting her head on her dad’s shoulder swaying away. Cecilia smiled at the thought before twisting one of her pill bottles open _. It’s time. I hope we can all dance together again._

Sherlock wasn’t alright with what he said a few hours ago. He should’ve used that opportunity to make up with her. He had to make things right. After arriving at her doorstep, he stood there hesitating to knock. “Ce-Cecilia?” Sherlock took a letter out of his back pocket and wondered if he should just slide it under the door. There was light shining through the crack, he noticed. Perhaps she’s home? He turned the doorknob slowly and was surprised to see it unlocked. “Clark?” The next few moments would haunt him for eternity.

She was laying on the bathroom floor. Her limp body, white as paper. The room reeked of vomit. Sherlock frantically looked around him and saw a plethora of sleeping pills and pain medication. She was seemingly saving these up for this moment. He thought back to the pub he saw her at. _Is that what was in that paper bag?_ Sherlock put an ear on her chest. Cecilia’s breathing was shallow, and her pulse was weak. For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes did not know what to do. 


	14. "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protective Mycroft is the best boy. By the way, this song is so depressing.

He sat still in the back of the ambulance letting the paramedics do their job as they were heading towards the hospital. The sirens became white noise fading into the background. All he was focused on was her. How could this happen? Why?

The next day, Sherlock was sitting in the waiting room when Mycroft came in.

"You honestly thought you could hide THIS from ME?!" Mycroft said, gritting through his teeth.

"You're a busy man-"

"So you can phone me for trivial things, but I had to learn that Cecilia was in the bloody trauma wing of Addenbrooke’s Hospital from the university itself?!" Sherlock didn’t answer. Mycroft shook his head disappointingly at his brother before walking off towards a payphone. "I have to talk to mum and dad about this-"

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s shoulder to stop him. "Don't you d-"

"It was a bloody overdose for God's sakes!"

Mycroft's outburst caused the waiting room to become silent momentarily. The two men looked at their surroundings awkwardly.

Hushed, Sherlock replied, "She wouldn't want them to worry."

"No! Of course not! Why in the hell would they worry about the girl they raised?! I thought you of all people would under-"

"Of course I understand! I was the one who found her! Did you ever wonder what that must feel like?!"  
It was silent again. 

After realizing the trauma that Sherlock went through, Mycroft became sympathetic. "God, Sherlock...I'm sorry."

"Mr. Holmes?" called out a nurse.

"Yes." The brothers replied.

The nurse looked at them confused for a bit then said, “She’s stable now, but we’ll have to move her to the psych ward eventually.”

“Can we see her?” asked Mycroft.

Mycroft cringed at the site of her in the hospital bed. "You go ahead...” he said to Sherlock. “I need...I'm going for a quick walk."

She felt herself tossing and turning in her sleep. After waking herself up, she realized she was in the hospital and drenched in her own sweat. Her heart was beating fast. Her breathing was rapid. “Clark.” She heard a worried voice say. Cecilia’s tired eyes landed on Sherlock’s piercing blue ones glaring down at her. She gave him a weak smirk before gesturing to her IVs.

"Look at the drugs they're pumping in me. I bet you're jealous."

"That’s not funny.” He said through his teeth.

Cecilia groaned. "Ah, there's that...feeling again."

With a concerned face Sherlock asked, "What feeling?"

"The welcoming feeling of death."

"Stop it."

She looked up at him with cold, dead eyes. “Why do you care? I’m worthless, remember? That’s what you told me. Right before you hit me.”

Heartbroken, Sherlock whispered, “Cee, I’m sorry. I was high. I wasn’t-“

“You hit her?” asked Mycroft, who was now standing in the doorway. “You were _that_ high that you hit her?” Sherlock flinched.

“Mycroft, I-“

"Leave." Mycroft felt his blood beginning to boil. Sherlock tried to interject, but his brother wasn’t having it. "GET THE HELL OUT!"

  
"Myc..." She said softly once Sherlock was out of the room, her eyelids heavy with weariness. "It’s alright…He just needs help.” Mycroft sighed and stroked her hair.

"I know, Cee. I know." he knelt down to kiss her head. The gesture made tears fall from her eyes.

As he stood up to leave, she whispered, "Don’t tell him I cried." He closed his eyes tightly in anguish.

“Just get some sleep, love.”

After Mycroft shut the door to her room, he trudged down the end of the corridor where Sherlock was waiting. "Is she alright?" Sherlock asked. Just then, Mycroft took his umbrella and whacked it across his brother's face. 

"Does it hurt? Good." As Sherlock groaned, Mycroft pushed him down onto the hospital floor using the tip of the umbrella. "I would knock you unconscious if I had the strength to."

"I said I'm sorry." Sherlock grumbled, holding his head down with both hands.

"This time brother, you have crossed the line!" Mycroft paused to glance at concerned nurses who walked by. After lowering his voice, he added, "If you ever lay a hand on her again-"

"I won't." Sherlock looked up to face his brother. "This, I promise the both of you.”

Mycroft inhaled deeply then kneeled to Sherlock’s eye level. “I’m never going to forgive you for this Sherlock. I will carry this grudge to my bloody grave if I have to.”

* * *

  
Cecilia’s eyes fluttered open before focusing on Sherlock’s brooding figure. "Where's...where's Myc?" she asked tiredly. A loud snore could be heard on the other side of the room. Sherlock gestured his head towards the noise and Cecilia's eyes followed. Mycroft was asleep on the sofa in an uncomfortable position; his mouth wide open and his snores gradually getting louder. The site made Cecilia chuckle weakly. She noticed Sherlock’s hardened gaze at her, making her frown. "Don't tell me you're angry I’m still alive."

"This isn't a damn joke Cecilia!” he snapped. “You were on the floor barely breathing. I thought you were... I thought I..." he inhaled. "Why? Why would you do this?"   
  
"Because..."

"Because?" he asked impatiently.

"Because what's the point of this life when it's shit?!” her tone startled Sherlock. “I'm tired Holmes. I'm tired of losing people. I feel so empty. I feel...lost.”  
  
"Why didn't you tell me? I could've-"

"Done what? You blew me off every chance you had until you showed up high that night!" she exclaimed. Sherlock stared at her, dumbfounded as she continued, "Myc's preoccupied with his career, you're doing your own thing, and I left the band a few months ago. So, what does it matter if I’m gone? You don’t need me.”

Sherlock nodded. “You’re right. I don’t need anyone. But the thing is Clark, even though you are not a matter of necessity...I want you here. A world without you isn’t a world I wouldn’t want to live in.” Sherlock sighed then grabbed her hand. "Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off of it." Cecilia stared at him, wondering if everything he said was the truth.

“And what about you?” she asked.

“I’ll get clean.” He replied earnestly. “And you and Mycroft will ensure that.” Then he cut his eyes to Mycroft’s sleeping figure. “Isn’t that _right_ , brother?” They watched Mycroft visibly flinch before he rolled over to face them.

Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been listening this whole time?”  
  
Mycroft pursed his lips as he sat up. “You two were having a moment. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Then he looked at Sherlock. “But yes, I have already made arrangements for your detox.” The younger brother let out a dejected sigh and the older one collected his belongings. “I have to head back to London. Will you two behave until I return?” He asked pointedly at Cecilia.

The two nodded their heads in agreement. “I am completely serious!” Mycroft exclaimed sternly. “If another thing happens, I will meet you all in hell and punish you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“We said yes!” cried out Cecilia. “Jesus Christ…” Satisfied, Mycroft bent over to plant a kiss on her forehead then stood up to flick Sherlock in the face.

“Dickhead.” Sherlock grumbled once his brother left the room.

Cecilia smiled then asked Sherlock, “Will you stay here?” 

He couldn’t help but smile back, “If you want.”

With her smile still on her face, Cecilia closed her eyes to drift off to sleep.

* * *

**A few days later.**

"Hello brother,” Mycroft asked Sherlock through the landline. “How is our little one doing?"

"She's doing better." Sherlock plopped himself down on the sofa in his flat and waited for a response from his brother. "Oh, and I'm doing marvelous. Thank you for asking. Not that you care since you hate me and all."

Mycroft drew in a breath. "I have something to tell you."

"Figured; since you’re not one to chitchat."

"It's about Hugh Carrows." He replied gravely. Sherlock became quiet. "We've found him in Bristol, but still in the process of pinpointing his exact location."

"How certain are you he’s back in the country?"

"I'm never wrong."

After a brief pause Sherlock demanded, "Send me your data."

"Sherlock, this is serious. I can't have you screwing this up. We’ve already lost him once-"

"Let me do this for her."

Mycroft was hesitant, but Sherlock did sound sincere for once in his life. After glancing at the family photo on his desk, Mycroft sighed. "Do you have access to a fax machine?"

* * *

"They said I could leave tomorrow." said Cecilia as Sherlock assisted her in sitting upright.

"Is that right?" His mind was somewhere else.

"Yes, and thanks for not telling your parents. They'd be hysterical."

"Cee...?"

"Hm?"

"I have something to show you, but you must promise me one thing." Cecilia rolled her eyes. "From now on, if you're going to put yourself in danger, do it without risking your conscience...or your will to live."

With a snort, she asked, "Where is this coming from? Since when did you care about morality?"

"Damn it, Clark. Listen for once!” Sherlock’s change in demeanor took her off guard. “Call me heartless all you want, but the day _you_ lose your humanity... _I_ will lose myself. And Mycroft and I would never forgive you if you accept death so easily." Cecilia's eyes softened. "You understand?" she gave him a nod, still pondering over his earnest words.

Sherlock took a deep breath then handed her a folder, which she reluctantly took. Slowly, she opened it and saw documents and maps that confused her even more. "What is this?"

"I found him. Carrows." Sherlock said grimly. Cecilia looked up at him in disbelief. "Mycroft's people narrowed him down in Bristol, but I pinpointed his bolt hole." he said, pointing at one of the maps. "I'm going to send this information to Mycroft and they'll be able to apprehend him. I just wanted you to be the first to know." Cecilia stared down at the documents in shock.

"Sherlock…How did you...? It's been years."

"Carrows was apparently hiding out in Bulgaria after he killed your father. He let his guard down after the Yard gave up the case. Luckily for us, Mycroft never stopped searching." he watched as Cecilia continued staring down at the folder. "I'm going to head to class now-"

"Thank you." she whispered. Cecilia looked up at him, teary eyed with a small smile on her lips. "I owe you everything."

Sherlock returned the slight smile then gathered the documents. "Remember what I asked of you." After receiving a determined nod from her, Sherlock took the folder and walked out of her hospital room.


	15. "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle"

**That Night**

Cecilia waited in an alleyway smoking a well-deserved cigarette. A black sedan pulled up to her and popped open its boot. She dropped the cigarette to the ground and extinguished it with her heel, before walking towards the vehicle's rear. Her arms dealer exited the driver's side and joined her. The two exchanged duffel bags and zipped them open. Satisfied with their exchange, they shook hands and departed without a word.

Mycroft leaned against the balcony railings outside his London flat. His department could not believe he managed to track down one of the worst criminals in the world. Mycroft was a young intelligence officer who was already leading and supervising agents who were twice his age. He found himself grinning at his ego. After placing a cigarette in his mouth, he lit it with the lighter and sighed. _It's nearly 11pm. Is it too late to check up on them?_ He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard his landline ringing. He let out a nauseated moan then answered the phone. "This is Mycroft Holmes."

"Hello, Brother-"

"Ah, Sherlock. I was just thinking of phoning you."

"How disturbing." Sherlock replied flatly. "Look. About Carrows-"

"Yes, I've been meaning to thank you for your intel."

"Cee's left to find him herself." Sherlock said impatiently. “She slipped out this afternoon.” Mycroft felt the blood drain from his face. "When is your team intercepting?"

‘A-at dawn."

"It'll be too late."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and growled, "This is why I told you not to tell! How does she even know where-!"

Sherlock seethed. "I may have...shown her the file-"

"Sherlock!"

"I know. Just another thing to add on your list of why you hate me."

"Sherlock," Mycroft replied tightly. "She hasn't even properly recovered. If anything happens to her, it's your-"

"It's Carrows I'm worried about." Sherlock said gravely. "Now, wake up all the king's horses and all the king's men.”

* * *

**Hours Later. Bristol.**

A platoon of military intelligence agents was in the perimeters of Hugh Carrows' bolt hole, a quaint cottage on a farm. As the agents crept closer, a few stepped over bodies of apparent henchmen. "What the hell happened here?" an agent muttered.

"Focus everyone. We don't know what we're getting into." Soon they surrounded the home. The squad leader signaled his breaching team to place themselves near the entrance of the building. After the door was knocked down, another team went in to assist with clearing the premises. All of them were surprised to see Hugh Carrows' dead body tied to a chair in the middle of the sitting room. Copious amounts of blood were pooled at his feet. A clatter from inside the kitchen prompted the agents to aim their weapons towards the sound. Cecilia paid no mind to the agents as she proceeded to inject herself with morphine she stole from the hospital.

"Thank god you're here." she called out before giving a disgusted expression at Carrows' rotting corpse. "The smell is beginning to put me off."

* * *

**Next Day. Interrogation Room.**

Mycroft, the squad leader at the scene, and Rudolph Holmes stood in the room opposite of the glass, staring at Cecilia. "How did she do it?" The Squad Leader asked Mycroft. “She took down seven of his men by herself and then Carrows. All on her own."

“My brother informed me that for the past few months, she’s been freelancing; taking jobs from crime syndicates and mafia lords.”

"I knew she was different," Rudolph said with amusement. "The moment I met her after your parents took her in. She had this look. It was...dark, but at the same time inspiring." He turned to his nephew and slapped a hand onto his shoulder, "She'd be good on your team. Tell her after graduation she'll have a job available."

"But Uncle Rudy-"

"If what Sherlock said about her is true, then I fear she will go down the wrong path if you are not there to help guide her.” His uncle warned. “Let's not make the same mistake we made with Eurus." Mycroft let out a defeated sigh and watched Rudolph leave the room. All the sudden he felt a great weight of responsibility drop on his shoulders. Mycroft mentally prepared himself to lecture his young friend as he stood outside the entrance to the interrogation room. With a serious face, he quickly opened the door.

"Myc!" Cecilia cried out in relief. Before he could breathe a word, she threw her arms around him and began sobbing. Mycroft instantly froze in shock. Cecilia Clark...Crying for _him_? She broke away from him and smiled at him with tears in her eyes. "Thank you." she whispered. "Oh god, thank you."  
  
"For what?" he breathed out.

"You didn't give up, Holmes. You found him." Cecilia embraced him once more and mumbled into his chest, "You didn't give up on me." Mycroft felt himself relax and allowed her tears to soak into his shirt. He smoothed her hair down with his hand and felt a smile tug on his lips.

* * *

**Present Day**

Cecilia opened her eyes to see Mycroft sitting on her bedside, stroking her hair with one hand and the other scrolling through his mobile. After glancing down at her, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She rolled away from him and closed her eyes again. “Hypocrite.”

Mycroft was taken aback. “What?”

“Sherlock.” She muttered. “He’s a hypocrite.” Mycroft shook his head, confused. Cecilia then sat up and gazed at him teary-eyed. “ _Don’t lose your will to live, Cecilia! Don’t accept death so easily, Cecilia!_ ” she exclaimed. “What about him?!”

With a frown, he replied, “Moriarty told him he had to die to save his friends.”

“Did he really save them, Myc? Did he?” Cecilia stood from the bed and ran her hands through her hair. “He’s s-so stupid! The Sherlock I know wouldn’t just let himself die without putting up a fight. If he did…Then-Then he’s not as smart as we all thought he was!”

“How smart am I, then?” a voice said behind her. Cecilia froze. She could see Mycroft grinning before she slowly turned around to see _Him_ standing in the doorway. Sherlock Holmes, alive and well, stood there smirking at her. “I’m touched, Cee. You actually missed me.” Cecilia looked down at the floorboards to wipe away her tears.

“I saw your body.” She said quietly. “You were dead.”

Sherlock shook his hands by his sides and replied, "It was a magic trick."

Just as Sherlock stepped towards her, he heard her starting to laugh. The laughs became louder then maniacal. She wasn’t laughing out of happiness. It was anger. Boiling rage. Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged worried glances at each other as Cecilia clenched her fists.

* * *

"So... Moriarty's actually dead?" Cecilia asked as she added more firewood in the fireplace. They were now situated in Mycroft's drawing room. Sherlock held an ice pack against his bruised face while Mycroft was being deeply hurt in his own way: watching his favorite umbrella burning away in the fire she made.

"Blew his own brains out." Mycroft replied, flatly.

"Have you told John yet?" She looked up at Sherlock and noticed his guilty expression. "You're not going to tell him?!"

Sherlock groaned as he massaged his temples. "Do you _have_ to yell?"

"Sherlock." Mycroft said tightly. "Now's not the time to be a smartarse." Mycroft anxiously looked at his other umbrella across the room, mentally praying for its survival.

The younger brother took a breath. "I can't, Cecilia. At least not yet. Not until I dismantle Moriarty's little crime web. It’ll only work if people believe I am dead. And I'll need your help."

"And how long will that take? This will kill him!"

"Cee-"

"Do you want John to suffer more than he already has?!"

"He'll be fine. After this is over, he'll realize I did this for him, and he'll forgive me...eventually."

Cecilia scoffed. "How would you know?"

Sherlock looked into her eyes and said softly, "Because you've forgiven me more times than I can count." He stood up then threw the ice pack in a bin. "The longer we argue about this, the more time we waste." Cecilia watched his eyes carefully before sighing in defeat. After crossing her arms across her chest, Cecilia's eyes darted over to Mycroft.

"Do you have any target packages made already?"  
  
Mycroft nodded as he opened his laptop. "I'll send you the files now."

Cecilia then turned to Sherlock. "If we do this, we will work together as a team. No ditching me, no going off on your own, no getting yourself abducted and me having to come rescue you-"

"Rescue me?!"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't be smart, Holmes."

With a smug grin, he replied, "Being smart is what keeps me alive."

"No, being smart is what nearly got you killed." 

Sherlock shrugged. “Whatever. We leave in the morning.”  
  


* * *

Cecilia woke the next morning and stretched in her bed. When she went to rub her tired eyes, she was confused when she felt a small piece of paper. A sticky note was stuck to her forehead. After peeling it off her face, she read the words, “Take care of John. Be back soon.” Cecilia took a deep breath.

“That SON OF A BITCH!”

**End Part One.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed this first installment of this series. I'm working on the second part which will be more Sherlock/Cecilia centered in the Series 3/4 timeframe.


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